


Bad Habits of the Dwarven Race

by karategal



Series: A Hobbit in the Lonely Mountain [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arkenstone - Freeform, Dwarf Culture, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Gold Sickness, Hobbit Culture, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, Thorin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karategal/pseuds/karategal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo had relocated to the Lonely Mountain and married its insufferable King, he wasn't quite anticipating the relative...strangeness of the dwarven race. Unfortunately for him, by hobbit standards, dwarves have a lot of unsavory and downright annoying habits. Very bad habits. So, in response to their bizarre behaviors, Bilbo Baggins has decided to make a thorough list for future reference...and maybe his books, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Habits 1-5

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters or actors from _The Hobbit_. Everything belongs to the great and powerful J.R.R. Tolkien.

**Bad Habit 1:** _Gossiping about anything and everything._

"Hello, Bilbo."

"Evening, Currin. You're looking particularly toothy tonight."

"People are gossiping about you."

"Are they?" 

"I made sure to growl and assure them that the King is quite content with your bouts of sexual intercourse. Very vocal, the two of you are." 

"Oh dear..."

"Quite the traumatizing smell, too. You've desecrated the garden bench again." 

"Terribly sorry about that." 

"Brunna won't be looking at cabbages or the King's favorite surcoat the same way again, either."

"And the others' reactions?"

"They turned a particularly interesting shade of red. And then scurried off when I started to inform them of the frequency of these sexual excursions." 

"You're an angel, my dear wolf."

"Helm has also been accompanied by his current lady love, as Kíli likes to call her. He used some other derogatory words to describe her, but I won't repeat those in public." 

Bilbo sighed. "Is this the one Fíli keeps calling Migraine?" 

"Morgain, to be precise," said the wolf. "But the nickname is very apt in this case. She makes me sneeze. And they're coming this way with Kíli now." 

"Huh, what an odd name..."

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the so-called migraine that was Helm's newest marriage-chaser, Bilbo could hear the female wolf growl at several dwarves who walked by them, her scattered body hair standing on end. He assumed that these were some of the gossiping dwarves from earlier, including three from Brunna's little entourage. At that moment, he was quite happy for Currin's growly presence; like Frodo, she was a very effective barrier between him and Erebor's nosiest subjects.

And then Helm was there, strong arms wrapping around the hobbit. "Dare I ask what sophisticated witticisms and trenchant observations have been uttered in my absence, Uncle Bilbo?" 

"Of course not, only the kindest words for my—"

Bilbo nearly yelped at the unfamiliar body that was suddenly right beside him. Migraine had slipped—whoops, Morgain, not Migraine!—quietly up behind them. Perhaps Kíli was right. If Helm insisted on keeping her around, they truly were going to have to put a bell on her. She was also giving Helm _the look_. Bilbo knew that look all too well.

"Oh, stop that. I'm not a threat to anyone's virtue, especially my own uncle's," Helm told her earnestly, standing and taking the fluttery dwarf's hand. "Care for another dance?"

"I know you're not," she said with a sugary smile, giving the young dwarven lord a quick kiss as they walked towards the crowded dance floor. "And of course, I love this particular piece." 

Currin and Kíli rolled their eyes. Bilbo attempted to remain dignified.

“I hate her like poison,” hissed Currin. 

"So, do I have to buy them a wedding gift?" Kíli asked sourly. "I paid for the drinks when we threw that intervention for him." 

"What a waste that was," Currin said, shaking her head. "I don't think he even read all of _Articles against Morgain: Musings from a Concerned Public_." 

Such a waste, really. It had been quite the treatise. 

"I mean, what would be an appropriate gift in these circumstances?" Kíli complained. "It's so terribly strange and unpleasant. She's like a leech. A very big, over-perfumed leech."

"Helm, you've just shackled yourself to a viper. Here are some candlesticks."

"You could give him a signed affidavit that you won't kill his wife," Kíli suggested. "Assure him that no wolf or badger will turn her into meat stew. Balin would be happy to draw it up for you." 

"Would that work?" Currin asked hopefully. "That would be highly cost-effective." 

"And in this case, no hardship."

 **Bad Habit 2:** _Constantly challenging anyone and everyone to drinking contests._

"What is Gimli doing?"

"I think he's challenged those four Ironfists to a drinking contest," laughed Kíli. "He's always been high-strung and talented at holding his ale, but don't think this will be his brightest moment, either."

"What did you say?!" shouted Gimli from across the hall. "I'll not have you insulting my family, you filthy sand-eaters."

The royals couldn't hear the Ironfists' quieter responses, but they were apparently more than enough to send Gimli into an infuriated frenzy, his face turning a mottled red that was scarily reminiscent of his father. Bilbo loved the young dwarf dearly—he was pretty much an honorary nephew at this point—but Erebor's Consort would also be the first person to admit that Gimli had a wee bit of a temper problem. He was a little _too_ much like Glóin in that respect, always flying into shouting matches or duels when a perceived insult was hurled at him. Poor Dala just sighed in exasperation and warned her son not to get his nose broken again.

She was tired of cleaning up the mess. And Óin's excessive grumbling.

"Goodness, does he truly think that he can drink all four of them under the table? That's quite ambitious, even for Gimli." 

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," said Kíli with a shit-eating smile. "This will be entertaining."

"Kíli! You shouldn't take such pleasure in his antics!" 

"What? It's entertaining," defended the brunet. "Gimli's always been good at holding his liquor. Plus, I've got two coppers riding on his toleration." 

"I told Nori to stop with the betting pools." 

After that, the hobbit and his nephew watched as two dozen tankards were brought out to the table, several dwarves stomping their feet and egging on the drinking dwarves. Bilbo just sighed in annoyance, thoroughly amazed at the childishness of such a competition. Back in the Shire, the Bracegirdles and Tooks often tried to take on Gaffer Gamgee's infamous brew, but none were ever able to withstand more than three bottles of the brutal concoction. Belladonna had been the most successful, something that she always attributed to the elven wines that Lord Elrond had allowed her to sample in Rivendell.

"Ironfists can't hold their liquor!" shouted Gimli before he released a momentous belch. "No good cactus-eaters!"

There was much farting after that. Bilbo wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

Dwarves and their farting.

And then there were a bunch of tankards flying and insults flinging and a whole pile of dwarves fighting in the middle of the Great Hall. It only took a few seconds for Dwalin and his guards to pop in and drag everyone apart, brutal smacks to the head and threats of being put in the dungeons effectively ending the brawl before it could get out of hand. Again. For the third time that night. 

Unfortunately, Gimli wasn't finished yet. 

"Your mother's so fat and ugly that the Harad would mistake her for an oliphant!"

"Haha! I won five coppers!" 

Bilbo sighed. "You dwarves are absolutely impossible."

 **Bad Habit 3:** _Being completely and utterly overbearing when around other races, or outsiders in general._

There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get away. Thorin has a difficult time grasping the concept.

"I can't feel my legs. Or my feet."

"You worry far too much, âzyungel." If possible, the Dwarf-King curled even tighter around Bilbo. "The Dorwinrim and Stiffbeards will keep until supper. I've assigned Balin and his apprentices to their upkeep for now."

"Thorin, this is utterly ridiculous."

In typical dwarvish fashion, Thorin started to suck on his husband's ear in an attempt to distract him. And in typical hobbit fashion, Bilbo sneezed right on his husband's face in an attempt to escape him. It only worked for one arm, and Bilbo barely made it to the edge of the bed before Thorin pulled him back.

By Yavanna, his husband was so _needy_ sometimes.

"Honestly, Thorin," groaned Bilbo in exasperation. "They're not going to kidnap me. I'm already married to you, after all."

"I don't like the way they were looking at you."

"Did you ever stop to think about the possibility that they'd never seen a hobbit before? We are terribly small compared to Big Folk and the majority of dwarves."

Bilbo tried to wiggle out of his husband's octopus-like hold. He had been ridiculously overprotective since the honor duel debacle. Whenever a dwarven delegation of non-Longbeard descent visited the mountain, Thorin valiantly attempted to squirrel Bilbo and Frodo away in the royal apartments. Or Dale. Bard and his family were always more than happy to have the two hobbits staying in their home. And Sigrid was always a delight to speak with, in Bilbo's opinion.

"I probably look strange and hairless to them. Very unattractive."

"They dared say such a thing?!"

"What?! No! I was just saying that they likely thought I was..." And then Bilbo was suddenly free. "Thorin... Thorin! Get back here this instant!"

"I have an urgent matter to deal with."

"No, you do not!"

"I will return momentarily, sanghivasha." Thorin reached over and proceeded to kiss the breath out of his hobbit. "The outsiders must be dealt with first. Nori's minions are stationed...somewhere for yours and Frodo's protection."

"Dealt with?!"

Thorin smiled that nasty lil' smile of his. "I do believe a short seminar with Ori would clear up their confusion just fine."

"Bebother you dwarves! Possessive fools."

 **Bad Habit 4:** _Tormenting their elven allies and neighbors._

"Thorin!"

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes, you are," snapped Bilbo. "Now stop abusing Iglishmêk and focus on the bloody negotiations."

"So cranky..."

A few more minutes passed without interruption, Bilbo listening attentively to the terms of the newest treaty between Mirkwood and Erebor. He was usually the only mature adult at these proceedings, both elves and dwarves acting equally childish whenever they were within ten miles of each other. It was absolutely ridiculous, in Bilbo's opinion. They were worse than the ever-greedy Sackville-Baggins during the Lithe-time festivals, and that was _really_ saying something.

"Thorin, I swear, if I see your finger do _that_ one more time..." 

"He deserves it."

"You are acting like a petulant child and, quite frankly, it's embarrassing. Do I have to enlist Tauriel's aid again?"

The Dwarf-King scowled. "You wouldn't dare." 

"Oh, I can dare perfectly fine. And I'm not at all afraid to have you shot in the backside to prevent a diplomatic nightmare." 

"He started it."

"And I'm going to finish it," snapped the hobbit. "Now sit down, be quiet, keep your fingers to yourself, and Mahâl forbid, don't moon anyone this time." 

"That wasn't me."

"Yes, it was, I'd recognize that hairy rump anywhere. And then dragging your own nephews into it..."

"Fíli and Kíli enjoyed themselves." 

"Of course, they did, since all they ever want is to please you. And Gimli's little dance was completely inappropriate." 

"I thought it was quite talented." 

"Don't make me resort to the Lonely Bed Punishment, Thorin Oakenshield. And I _will_ do it."

"Fine. I'll be civil." 

A few more minutes passed and Bilbo snarled, "Don't you dare stick your finger through that hole, Thorin. Your jewels will ache for a month if you do." 

"You're right, he's too stupid to appreciate a fine bum. Yours is the finest, umzam."

"Yavanna save me from dwarves."

 **Bad Habit 5:** _Guild halls are a very dangerous place for hobbits._

Bilbo could feel two fingers trace up and down his back, from just under his collar to the waistband of his pants. It was quite romantic and Bilbo could feel trousers getting a little tight for comfort, hips wiggling a bit to hide his growing arousal. But then, without warning, Thorin pressed down firmly on his shoulder. An achy Bilbo yelped in surprise. Honestly, did he have to be so rough?

"How does that feel?"

"It's a little sore," Bilbo admitted. "What are you doing?"

"I'm seeing how bad the injury is, umzam. What did you think I was doing?"

"I don't know. Playing pat-a-cake? Seems about your speed." The King pressed on a different part of Bilbo's bruise. "Owww! Was that truly necessary?"

"Sore there as well? How about here?"

"It hurts."

"What happens when I press here?"

"It hurts."

"And over here?"

"I am suffused with giddiness and the faint odor of parsnips."

"What?" Thorin asked, surprised.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. Honestly, sometimes he wondered if Thorin was only kept around for his good looks. Then again, his husband was apparently quite homely by dwarven standards. What a bunch of poppycock, had been Bilbo's response. Thorin was one of the handsomest men he'd ever seen in his entire life. And their nephews were just as handsome, too. Especially Kíli, the poor dear. Bilbo didn't hesitate to sic the badgers on anyone who insulted his middle nephew's small nose, slighter build, and lack of beard or sideburns. They'd grow in with time, and then he'd be one of the finest looking dwarven lads in the whole of Arda.

That would show those self-important bullies. And Bilbo would laugh when they realized how stupid and pretentious they truly were. Imbecilic morons.

"It hurts, Thorin. That's what happens when you press on a bruise. Not to discourage your natural curiosity, but it's also what's going to happen the next fifty times you pre—" A bolt of pain shot through Bilbo and his knees would have buckled if the King hadn't been holding him up. "Owwwwwww!"

"There, âzyungel?"

Bilbo flinched as he probed it again, albeit more carefully. The hobbit silently vowed that he would never, ever attempt to settle a guild dispute again. Dwarves were absolutely vicious when they were fighting over their crafts and their crafting territories. Thankfully, Dori had been quick to grab the underfoot hobbit and had then proceeded to beat the jewels out of every dwarf involved in the tussle. As usual, the teamaker received two offers of courtship afterwards.

Dori had promptly punched them in the mouth.

"Yeah." Bilbo gritted his teeth as the King lightly massaged the achy spot. "But please, gentle this time."

"Some salve will help the swelling," Thorin assured. "Hold still."

"Owwww!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the second long-term and humorous drabble series that I had alluded to in _The Price of Gold_. It would probably be best to read that story and the others before starting any of my drabbles, _The Misplaced Nephew of Thorin Oakenshield_ included, but it's not completely necessary. Updates will, of course, be quite slow and sporadic due to my class and research schedule, but bear with me. I'll be a _surprise_ author for the foreseeable future.
> 
> Also, if anyone would like to give some _Bad Habit_ suggestions, they will be very much welcome. I haven't written more than twelve of them at this point, so any that you guys can come up with will be very helpful to me in the future. I'll probably need some outside inspiration for this story. Thanks!


	2. Bad Habits 6-10

**Bad Habit 6:** _Suffering from severe flatulence and taking great pride in it._

"I feel like I'm going to pass out."

"Ah, well, that's not exactly good, nadad melekûn."

Dís was seated at her brother's desk, blue eyes roving over the numerous guild reports that the King had had no time to properly examine. A large portion of the southern sapphire mines had collapsed again, forcing Thorin to rush down to meet with Bofur about the recurring instability of those particular shafts. Thankfully, no one appeared to be hurt, but that didn't stop her brother from cursing like a sailor the whole time. He _really_ didn't like when royal duty interrupted second breakfast.

"So, if you slept last night...why are you so tired?"

"Because I didn't stay asleep," Bilbo's shoulders dropped suddenly. "Thorin snores when he's very tired. And full of chicken."

"Oh."

"A lot."

"Ah."

"And loudly."

"I see."

"And that's not all of it," he added morosely. "That's not even close to all of it! I wish that was all of it!"

Dís' brow wrinkled and she cautiously asked, "There's more?"

Nodding, Bilbo drew in a deep breath. "Flatulence. Incredibly loud and foul smelling flatulence."

"Uh—"

"Putting it delicately."

"Huh."

"Also a lot."

"Hmm."

"And also loud."

"Oh."

Grimacing, Bilbo drained the last of his afternoon tea. The hobbit set Dori's handcrafted cup to one side and ran his hands through the mess of curls atop his head. It was nearing time for Bilbo's monthly hair trim. Damned things kept poking him in the eyeballs.

"I mean, with one thing and the other, it was like trying to sleep next to an earthquake machine."

"Oh my, that's quite terrible—"

"Have you ever heard the phrase _sheet-ripper_ , Dís?"

Dís' expression grew slightly alarmed. "Um…yes? Once, in a western village."

The hobbit's mouth thinned into a hard line and he admitted, "Well, until last night, I didn't actually understand what it meant."

"Oh dear..."

Desperate to escape the conversation, Dís' eyes scanned the room, looking for a graceful way to exit. She had dealt with her brother's gassy sleeping habits for many years and she truly didn't want to relive them.

"And, do you want to hear the absolute worst part?" Bilbo leaned forward again, hazel eyes slightly wild. "And yes, it gets even worse. So much worse..."

"Umm, well, Bilbo...actually, I don't—"

"We had Dorwinion for supper last night." Bilbo's eyes closed over remembered horrors. "The peppers must have caused his—"

"All right! I believe I am more than aware of the whole picture now, Bilbo Baggins."

The princess took a deep breath and gave him an apologetic smile, inwardly commiserating with her unfortunate brother-in-law. Dís was going to _kill_ her older brother for making this a topic of conversation. She'd had to listen to Thorin's intestinal issues for decades and now she was being pulled right back in again. It was unacceptable. And the dwarf knew better than to eat peppers! They always made him fart like a disoriented troll and he damned well knew it.

"I just don't think that I can really advise you on this one, that's all. I mean, it's not really something I've had to deal with in recent years."

"Lucky you..."

 **Bad Habit 7:** _Refusing to use a handkerchief or blow their sniffling noses._

"Stop that," scolded Bilbo, "It tickles!"

"That was my intent," said Thorin, tongue slowly skimming down his husband's plump stomach. "And your greatest weakness." 

The hobbit was sprawled out on their ridiculously large bed, as naked as the day he was born and giggling like a madman as Thorin's long mane of hair tickled his sensitive sides. The beard and extra-hairy chest wasn't much better, which resulted in Bilbo continuously smacking his husband in the head. Thorin took this with good humor, purposely torturing the hobbit's hairless belly with his front braids and the cool beads that adorned them. 

Bilbo was not amused.

"I swear, I'll smack you again if you dare to—"

"Mmmmhmmm."

"Not the bellybutton, you awful barbarian!" 

Thorin flicked his hobbit in the nose. "Hush, âzyungel, you're interrupting the tongue-bath." 

"You are utterly shameless."

Again, the King smirked. "And you're as hard as a rock." 

"I blame you entirely for that particular problem," giggled Bilbo. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have your—ahhhhh!"

"You were saying, umzam?"

"Don't make me kick you in the head," snapped the hobbit. "And would you _please_ leave my belly fat alone!" 

"But it's so attractive. And tasty." 

"The Mirkwood ambassadors certainly didn't think so. You were totally inappropriate and I'm going to have to speak with them in the morning or else we'll have—" 

"Worthless tree-shaggers can't appreciate the fineness of such beautiful ears. Or tummies." 

And then Thorin put his open mouth on Bilbo's stomach and started to blow farting sounds into it, which naturally resulted in the poor, abused hobbit having yet another giggle fit. The King coughed a time or two, but Bilbo remained happily oblivious as Thorin continued to assault every sensitive spot he could find. They ended up rolling around and kneeing each other in the stomachs and thighs and butts before the mischief was out of their systems. 

"Such a fine, plump, luscious, tasty, and pillow-like tummy," praised Thorin as he pinned Bilbo to the bed. "It deserves the worship of the Valar. Daily. Preferably morning, noon, and night. And perhaps a few more times in between as well."

"You're so silly. But still, you didn't need to poke it so much."

With a chuckle of great pride, Thorin leaned down to kiss his pouting husband on the lips, just nipping at Bilbo's quivering chin when...

"ACCCCHOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Thorin!"

"By Mahâl, I don't know where that came from! Here, let me get you one of your handkerchiefs. It's right over here." 

"I told you to blow your sniffly nose before we started hav—"

"ACCCCHOOOOOOO!"

"You're as terrible as those blasted trolls! By Eru, it's all over my face and my—"

"ACCCCCCCHOOOOOOOO!"

 **Bad Habit 8:** _Chewing with their mouths wide open._

"Close your mouth, Kíli. Did you grow up in a barn?" 

"Nay," said the prince with a giant, food-filled smile. "In a cave. It was quite cozy in the winter."

"That's nice, now close your mouth." 

Kíli pouted like a petulant child. "How come? Nobody else does. See?" 

And the lad's words were very true. In every direction around Bilbo, dwarves were whooping and hollering and chatting and drinking with their gobs stuffed full of chewed up food. Bilbo had grown accustomed to many aspects of dwarven culture—and he'd accepted them whenever he possibly could—but their eating habits were still a point of discomfort and occasional disgust for him. Most of the Company had tried valiantly to improve their table manners, but large feasts and lots of ale usually made them forget their hobbit-y vows within less than an hour. 

It was well-known that hobbits loved food more than any other race on Arda; everything in their lives resolved around food, be it their gardens or the beloved and immaculately decorated kitchens that they kept in their homes. Seven meals a day were an absolute must in hobbit society. Anything less was considered quite odd by the greater populace. And taking the time to chew and savor a good meal was an ingrained part of every hobbit's life. Even Frodo, who had spent over half of his short years in Erebor, could be seen happily chewing and savoring a particularly delicious meal. That was one aspect of the Shire that stuck with all hobbits, no matter where or what they called home, for the rest of their lives.

Dwarves, on the other hand...

"Would chewing be too much to ask for?" Bilbo lamented. "I spent a lot of time on those pies and tarts and cakes and—" 

Thorin paused. "The apple pie was very good, umzam."

"You didn't even taste it," accused the hobbit with a vicious frown. "All of you just stuffed it into your mouths and poof! It was gone." 

"I tasted it, Uncle Bilbo." 

"Of course you did, my darling." Bilbo dropped a kiss atop Frodo's head and glared at Thorin when he started to pout like a needy child. "Nope, no kisses for you." 

"But it was very good..."

"You ate it in two bites, Thorin. Just _two_ bites. All while you were speaking with Dwalin. No tasting was involved in that debacle."

Dwalin's head suddenly poked around and he attempted to say, "It was delicious and—"

"One bite. I saw it. And your mouth's full." 

The large dwarf actually had the decency to blush—and didn't that say a lot about the hobbit's influence?—before disappearing behind Thorin's over-dressed form again. Dwalin was willing to take on almost any enemy in Middle-Earth, but when it came to an irate halfling? Nope, he wasn't about to risk it. Those pumpkin cupcakes were far too valuable to endanger for anything less than dragon invasions or clogging the elves' toilet systems. And he was still making up for that last one, too. 

"Maybe I just shouldn't cook anymore. No appreciation at all." 

The entire front portion of the Great Hall suddenly went dead silent, dozens of shocked eyes watching their Consort with abject horror. A muffin fell out of Bombur's mouth, Billa and Bilba giggling at their father's funny face from the baby chairs. Billa had a blueberry tart in her left hand, which she then shoved into her mouth and proceeded to gnaw on with great enthusiasm. Of everything in the hall, it was this action that made Bilbo smile.

"Now, you see? Those are proper manners," said Bilbo as he walked over and snatched up tiny Billa. "How about you and your sister come with me, sweetheart? We can have a lovely, proper feast all by ourselves. Come, Frodo. And you, too." 

Bilba happily toddled along beside Frodo, a cherry tart and mixed berry scone clutched in each of her sticky hands. 

"What just happened?"

Kíli blinked and said, "I think we upset Uncle Bilbo. By Mahâl..."

Within ten seconds, the entire Company, royal family, and half of the surrounding tables were running for the doors, desperate to apologize to the upset Consort and safeguard their favorite desserts and hobbit-made meals. Thorin and Dwalin were at the front, neither caring about how undignified they looked to the rest of Erebor's population. 

Dís shook her head and muttered, "Morons."

 **Bad Habit 9:** _Eating food that clearly isn't theirs._

When it came to mealtimes in Erebor, keeping all of your fingers intact was always a challenge. Bilbo had quickly learned that arriving early to meals was often the only way not to starve in the Lonely Mountain. Dwarves were like a ravenous pack of wargs once breakfast or supper rolled around, and Bilbo preferred to avoid being mistaken for an extra-plump butterball turkey if he could manage it.

"Fíli! That's not yours!"

The crown prince smiled around the muffin he'd stuffed into his mouth.

"Honestly, you'd make the whole mountain think your mother and I didn't feed you with the way you eat," Bilbo grumbled. And then another hand snuck across the table and stole a strip of bacon from his plate. "Kíli! That's it! No cupcakes for a week."

"That's not fair!"

"Stealing food from my plate isn't fair, zundushith. Frodo! Don't you even think about it..."

"But I just wanted some—"

"No! I will not have you stealing apple slices like that dreadful Lobelia Sackville-Baggins did with my silver. Absolutely not."

"Why are hobbits so vicious?" lamented Kíli.

"Because we don't like people snatching food from off our plates," sniffed Bilbo around a strip of bacon. "Naughty food snatchers, the whole lot of you."

"He's meaner than Amad. I didn't think that was possible."

"You see, dear Bilbo, my mother had a very wise saying that Bombur and myself have learned to live by," said Bofur as he snatched several biscuits off of Glóin's unattended plate. "The early bird might get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."

"Is that so, laddie?"

Bilbo smiled up at Glóin. "Now might be a good time to run, Bofur."

"Damn..."

 **Bad Habit 10:** _Allowing young children to explore the mines and unpopulated corridors._

"Frodo Baggins! You get down here this instant!"

"Uh oh," said Donel from his perch on the mining platform. "Your uncle looks awfully mad. Does his face usually get that red and splotchy?"

The boys watched Erebor's Consort with wary eyes, neither of them quite knowing what to make of the flailing arms and downright nasty curses that Bilbo was throwing at the assembled dwarves behind him. Dwarfling and faunt both shrunk back onto the platform, hoping that the smaller they made themselves, the less likely Bilbo was to yell at them.

"How on Arda is it alright for children to play around gigantic holes in the ground?! I refuse to believe that such behavior is encouraged by dwarven mothers. Where is Thana? Or Dís? Someone around here must have a lick of common sense."

Some of the miners tried to scuttle off, but to no avail. Bilbo spotted them before they could make their escape. It was only the sudden appearance of Thorin that kept Bilbo from throwing a few of them down the nearby air chute.

"Bofur! I know you're around here somewhere!"

"Sanghiva—"

"Don't you even dare utter that word, Thorin Oakenshield!" snapped Bilbo, his finger poking the King right in his giant honker. "Or I swear, I'll punch you so hard in the head that it'll make your forefathers dizzy!"

A nearby dwarf whispered, "I thought halflings were peaceful creatures?"

"Not that one."

"I don't understand it. Mining observation is good for a lad."

"He's like a papa wolf when that nephew of his comes anywhere near the mines. Absolutely vicious."

"Worse than Master Glóin?"

"Not quite. That dwarf will smash in your jewels for touching his son or the halfling sprout. I saw it myself last summer. Many noses were broken in defense of the halfling's lack of whiskers."

"They are rather bare and quite strange looking..."

And then they noticed Erebor's Consort glaring at them, hands on his hips and right foot tapping impatiently at the ground. It was amazing how something so small and plump and curly-headed could be so terribly intimidating. No wonder their King feared his Consort's wrath.

"Well, why are you just standing there? Get them down! Now!"

"Of course, Your Highness! Right away!"

Bilbo sighed in frustration. "Bebother and confusticate gossipy dwarves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comment and PM suggestions! I've got about 24 _Bad Habits_ so far. And despite my suckage at romance, I actually enjoy writing about Bilbo's and Thorin's marriage, especially the more hilarious aspects that come with any type of long-term relationships. And seriously, sex can be damned _awkward_ and silly sometimes, which so many people seem to forget or ignore. Huh, it appears that I actually don't mind writing silly sex scenes. Go figure.


	3. Bad Habits 11-15

**Bad Habit 11** : _Not taking a bath at least twice a week._

"This is disgraceful."

Bilbo stood in front of fourteen sheepish and filthy looking dwarves, all of them shuffling from foot to foot as the hobbit glared down at them. A thick layer of coal dust, rock flecks, and black dirt covered their haggard forms. None of them had bathed in well over a week.

"I understand the need to fix the forges as quickly as possible, but this is just ridiculous."

"My bum itches."

"No wonder, you've probably got a mountain of dirt in it."

"It's not that terrible."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "You smell worse than the trolls and their disgusting hoard."

"There's no need to be insulting."

"Just having you lot of questionably covered dwarves in my presence is insulting. My poor nose may fall off. And I can't even see your inkings."

In typical dwarven fashion, half of them raised their elbows to smell at their armpits. Fíli and Kíli made a grand show of it, purposely sniffing at each other's pits while Gimli swatted at their soot-covered heads. The oldest prince didn't even look like a blond anymore.

"That's it. All of you into the baths. Right now."

"But we've still got some—"

"Now!"

It took a good bit of corralling and pushing and shoving, but Bilbo was eventually able to herd his overworked bunch of dwarves into the communal hot springs. Only a handful of others were present, each of them soaking in the individual pools that were cordoned off from the primary baths. Bilbo usually favored those on the rare occasions that he bathed outside of the royal apartments, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

"I'll give you two minutes to strip and get into the bathes. If you aren't done by then, I'll throw you in myself."

"Someone's bossy today."

"None of you are getting anywhere near my kitchen or dining halls looking like that," said Bilbo. "Now chop, chop!"

"What about our clothes?"

"I've already arranged for fresh ones to be brought down. Just set them there, Bofur."

Thorin smiled. "You came prepared."

"Well, I know how stubborn my dwarves are," said Bilbo as he poked Gimli and Bifur towards the waters. "And I understand that the mines must be repaired as quickly as possible, but going such a long time without bathing? Plain foolish, I'd say."

"Ahhhhhhh, this feels divine," groaned Glóin. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

Donel's father and Dwina's uncle mumbled their agreement, both of them completely submerged at this point. Hania's brothers could be heard not too far away, their heads bobbing to and fro as the other dwarves entered the springs. Dwalin and Nori floated close together near the back of the enormous pool. What they were doing back there was their business and Bilbo preferred not to think about it.

"C'mon, boys, in you go," encouraged Bilbo. "I'll make good on my threat. And here, take some soap with you."

"Did you bring oils?"

Bilbo set the little bottles along the pool's edge. "What kind of dwarven husband would I be if I didn't?"

"A confused one?"

"I know how to care for your hair and whiskers now," said Bilbo with a swat to Fíli's head. "Oh dear, your poor blond hair..."

"You have to do mine first," rumbled Thorin, his blackened fingers purposely running over Bilbo's plump belly and whiskerless cheeks. "It's a rule, ghivashel. And my poor hair is so—"

Bilbo shoved his husband into the pool.

"You first, Fíli."

 **Bad Habit 12:** _Keeping inappropriate trophies around the home._

"No."

"But Uncle Bilbo, it's just some—"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish my—"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon, now you're just being unreasonable."

"No."

"But it'd look really good right above the—"

"No."

"Uncle Thorin told me I could hang it up above the fireplace."

"Oh, really?"

Kíli blinked and decided to reassess the situation. "Ummm, yes? He thought it'd look good for anyone you received in—"

"Thorin!"

It only took a few moments for the King to appear and ask, "What's wrong? Are you injured? Kíli?"

"The answer is a gigantic _no_. Period."

"What?"

"Under no circumstances will I have a slain elk-head mounted on my walls. That's nonnegotiable."

"But it's not—"

"And the answer's no! We've talked about this, Thorin."

"It would look nice—"

"You know that I don't care about the boys' own rooms, but ours?" Bilbo gestured around them to get his point across. "I'm not going to have a dead elk staring at me while I patch up your trousers. It's unnerving is what it is."

Both dwarves looked terribly put out.

"I don't care if you display the antlers and I'll gladly cook the meat, but no heads on my walls. Do you hear me?"

The Dwarf-King's reply was, "If I promise that this won't be like the time with the orc ears or the Ironfist fingers that Dwalin used—"

"No."

"Well, how about if it was placed near the—"

"Nope."

Their nephew shuffled and said, "Maybe we could use the dragon claws that Bain found inste—"

"Absolutely not!"

 **Bad Habit 13:** _Taking great pride in giving beard-burn to their non-dwarven partners._

"Mmmhmm..."

A contented sigh slipped out of Bilbo's mouth, toes curling as his husband continued to kiss all around his mouth. The hobbit forcibly deepened the kiss after a few moments of teasing, slipping his tongue across Thorin's lower lip and using the King's braids to tug him down to eye-level. Bilbo reached over and ran his unoccupied fingers through his dwarf's plentiful chest hair, purposely tugging here and there at it.

"Hobbits are truly insatiable."

Bilbo snorted and said, "Has the King Under the Mountain become too old and fat in his dotage to keep up?"

"Did you just compare me to a wyrm?"

"If you require another break, then that's perfectly fine, darling."

That certainly got a response out of the King and Bilbo couldn't help but giggle as he was all but crushed into the bed. However, the sudden movement and proximity caused Thorin's whiskers to scrape against Bilbo's smooth chin and cheeks. It had taken a few years, but Thorin's beard was finally coming in and he now sported an especially attractive braid. Fíli and Kíli had crafted the adorning bead themselves.

"It appears that I've insulted someone's pride."

Thorin slid his mouth up to Bilbo's ear, gently rasping the now ample beard along his husband's cheek. The hobbit hummed in response, fingers playing with the long braid as was his wont. It truly was a lovely display of dwarven whiskers.

"You like that?" the King whispered into Bilbo's pointed ear. "Does it please you?"

Bilbo nodded without hesitation, the prickling sensation making his voice breathy as he said, "It's a wonderful...and illustrious beard. And it feels fantastic."

"You mean this?"

The King nuzzled his chin down into the crook of Bilbo's neck. It drew an immediate gasp from the hobbit, his hands tugging Thorin further and further down as their newest round of teasing and lovemaking began anew. Only morning and sunlight and nosy eyes alerted Bilbo to their sexual escapade's unfortunate results.

"You're all red, Uncle Bilbo."

"Button up or I'll do it for you," threatened the hobbit. "Not a word, Kíli."

"It's such a lovely look, though."

"Half of the mountain's staring at me," Bilbo hissed, "And you think I don't know how I look?"

"Uncle was quite thorough, it seems."

Bilbo glared at his nephews and decided to take drastic measures. Honestly, the boys had no one to blame but themselves for this specific punishment. Unlike the onlookers, who couldn't seem to take their eyes off of Bilbo's terribly reddened face and neck, Erebor's princes knew better than this.

"For your information, my entire body's itching something fierce right now, including my bum and dangly bits."

The horrified expressions were worth it.

"And all of my special lotion is gone, so that's why I look like Smaug's personal fire board."

"Stop it!"

"Honestly, it's like an awful itch than I just can't get rid of no matter how much I scratch it."

"You're just being cruel now!"

"And every time I bend over, it feels like one of my poor thighs is gonna—"

"I can't take this!"

Just like that, Bilbo was nephew-free and able to visit Óin's infirmary for another huge tub of lotion. The dwarf didn't even raise an eyebrow anymore about Bilbo's bi-monthly purchases.

"Stupid dwarves and their stupid beards."

 **Bad Habit 14:** _Refusing to eat green food._

"I've had it."

Everyone in the royal dining hall went silent, eyes wide and fixed on the hobbit who'd just slammed his hands onto the table. Most of them had their mouths full with all kinds of meats and cheeses and biscuits and cookies and muffins and whatever else they could get their hands on. However, there was one thing that remained untouched and Bilbo did not appreciate it.

Not at all.

"If none of you are willing to savor my cooking, then perhaps you'd better find another chef."

Bilbo picked up his yawning nephew, carefully wiping Frodo's messy face and cleaning off his sticky fingers and wrists. Keeping the eleven-year-old on a strict sleep schedule was very important, especially since a distinct lack of sunlight made time-telling quite difficult for the hobbits. Only the Consort's and Frodo's bedchambers and living rooms possessed any type of windows or balconies, so mixing up night and day was all too easy and common a mistake for them.

"What's wrong, Uncle Bilbo?" asked Kíli after a few moments of silence.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. Look!"

The hobbit reached out and pointed at the bowls of untouched greens and vegetables and fruits all over the table. A series of grumbles and whispers took over the hall, each of the dwarves glaring and punching at each other in accusation. Bilbo wasn't amused. At all.

"A salad of green beans, onions, pine nuts, beets, sweetgrass, spinach, chickpeas, plums, and Dorwinion peppers. Untouched."

He pointed to another plate.

"Two dishes of greens topped with apple slices, honeyed raisins, and pine nuts. Untouched."

And then another plate.

"Bowls of stewed plums with a zucchini herb casserole, mushroom rice, and honeyed acorns. Untouched."

It was another plate after that.

"Buttered green beans, roasted potatoes, honeyed sweetgrass, and herbed rice with a spicy black bean salad. Untouched."

The hobbit crossed his arms and glared at them.

"I'll not be cooking for anyone but Frodo and Bifur anymore," said Bilbo, "If this is how my efforts will be treated. Now, I've got a faunt to bathe and put to bed. Goodnight."

As Bilbo was leaving, he heard all of the dwarves start yelling at each other, their voices distressed and louder than usual. Normally, Bilbo would have been amused by how flustered they were, but right now? He was just angry that half of his dishes had gone to waste this evening.

"How could this happen?!"

"I always make sure to eat some of his green dishes! This is all your faults!"

"He's not gonna cook for us anymore!"

"This is terrible!"

"What are we gonna do? I don't want to eat in the kitchens and main hall for every damned meal!"

"They're just not as good as Bilbo's. Or as tasty."

"Quick! Eat everything on the table! That'll show him that we appreciate his cooking and any kind of food!"

"Aye! We've got to eat it all!"

"Not that fast, Ori! By Mahâl, you'll choke to death!"

"Gotta eat, gotta eat..."

 **Bad Habit 15:** _Quite literally drinking themselves underneath the table._

"What in the world are you doing?"

Bilbo stood directly in front of his husband, hands on his hips and foot tapping in an imposing manner. Said dwarf just smiled up at him, eyes glazed over with a haziness and general air of indifference that made Bilbo wonder about Thorin's sanity. His husband was never a happy or cheerful drunk.

He liked to brood too much.

"My beautiful husband," hiccupped the King. "My gorgeous...and wonderfully...plump husband!"

"What did you give him?"

Dáin snickered like a small child and said, "He's always...been a lightweight...for Dorwinion whiskey."

"And so you decided to give it to him?"

"Just a little...mid-summer's celebration..."

The Lord of the Iron Hills lifted his right butt cheek and unleashed a mighty fart to rival all farts. Every dwarf in the immediate vicinity broke into uproarious laughter, whiskey spitting through the air while their hands smacked the table. Even Thorin joined in, two large spurts of liquid flying out of his nose. He then grabbed Bilbo's bum for good measure.

"My nose hairs! It's burning...my nose hairs!"

Another fart sounded, this time even louder and twice as wet sounding to Bilbo's ears.

"I need my...brown pants, laddies!"

"Too late!"

And then there was a monstrous burp about two tables down the aisle.

"That was in my face, elf-fucker!"

"You call...that a belch? My amad...can break it louder...than that!"

Thorin laughed right along with them and then—toppled over, face-planting straight into his bowl of venison stew. Dís stood right behind him, a large frying pan tapping up and down in her hands. She gave Bilbo a pleasantly evil smile, grabbed the back of her older brother's tunic, and proceeded to throw Thorin over her shoulder. It was quite the humbling sight.

"I'll be taking him home now," said Dís. "Could you locate the boys and bring them back as well?"

Bilbo just nodded and wandered off to look for Fíli and Kíli in the feasting crowds. He knew better than to mess with Dís when she was in a mood. His sister-in-law could be a vicious creature when she put her mind to it. However, as it turned out, it wasn't Bilbo's nephews who were making a scene for once. Instead, he ran into a very drunk and boisterous and pondering Bofur, who had obviously had ten too many drinks.

"Is there a reason why he's talking to his turkey leg like that?"

"He's at level two," said Bombur.

"Level two?"

"Bofur hits four levels when he drinks. Level one, he is loud and boisterous and he cannot walk straight. Level two, he becomes monosyllabic and seems quite sober until you talk to him. Level three is when he can't stop looking at the ladies. Trust me, that level was quite easy to discover. And four is him finding some place to sleep; either curled up in a corner or on lucky occasions, his own bed."

"Fascinating."

The party lasted another hour. Fíli and Kíli went stumbling back to the royal apartments alongside Dala and a terribly drunk Gimli. Poor Bofur finally moved on to stage four. His feet hung out from under the buffet table.

"Should we wake—"

"No, no. He takes pride in stage four. He likes to retell all of the places he's been able to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the suggestions everyone! And seriously, beard-burn would have to be such a problem for Bilbo. He's as smooth as a baby's bottom and anyone like that turns into a blotchy mess if they don't use lotion. Or maybe that's just me and my pasty-white skin. I'm still open to suggestions, of course; just don't be surprised if I'm slow to reply. My internet connection is tricky at best right now.


	4. Bad Habits 16-20

**Bad Habit 16:** _Complete lack of appreciation for broad feet._

"Are you sure you can't wear these?"

If glares could kill, then Thorin would've been a sizzling corpse. Or a pile of ash on the floor.

"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

"You know I wouldn't ask unless it was absolutely necessary. It's just that—"

"What? What is it, Thorin?"

"Ummm, we're just gonna leave now," said Fíli from across the room. "We've got a thing to do. You know..."

"Training! We've got training with Dwalin."

"Yes, that! And you know how he gets whenever we're late."

Fíli discreetly snatched up Frodo from where he was playing on the floor with Donel, who was also grabbed by an openly terrified Kíli. Neither of them wanted to be anywhere near their smaller uncle when he blew his top and threatened to throw Thorin from the battlements. It would be an interesting reversal, but not worth their eardrums or their lives. So, they were getting out while the getting was good.

"We'll just take the boys with us—"

"And get them out of your hair for the moment—"

"Terribly distracting—"

"Have a lovely evening! Don't wait up for us!"

"I'm not wearing those," said Bilbo with an indignant sniff. "And I can't believe you would even ask me to, either."

Thorin sighed. "I know they hurt your feet and—"

"Hurt my feet?!" hissed the hobbit. "They make them feel like they're gonna fall off. I can't even feel my toes in those horrid contraptions."

"I know, ghivashel, but you know how dwarves are about bare feet."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that my people's _naturally_ large, broad, and hairy feet insult your council's delicate sensibilities. Would you like for me to chop them off, too?"

"What?! No!"

"Because it certainly sounds like that to me."

"I didn't ask—"

"Do you want to cram Frodo's feet into those, too? Because I promise you, he _will_ scream through the whole process."

"I just don't want them to stare at you!"

Bilbo sighed. "They'll stare anyways, Thorin. They always do. We're _not_ dwarves."

"I know, I know. It just...bothers me."

"The staring?"

"How disrespectful it is," admitted the King. "You're my Consort and my husband. And Frodo's my child. I can't stand hearing them make crude jokes about your feet."

The hobbit wrapped his arms around Thorin and said, "I didn't know it bothered you so much."

"Bare feet are not supposed to be shown in public. It's considered lewd by our people." Thorin snorted at that. "I want to punch their faces in. And then let Dwalin and the boys take a few swings, too.

"That seems a tad excessive."

"It's really not."

They stood there for a few minutes, two pairs of boots laying forgotten on a nearby settee. Bilbo buried his face in Thorin's furry surcoat, delighting in the woody scent that permeated from it. His husband always smelled so lovely. Well, when he wasn't covered in blood or soot, that is.

"Hmmmm, darling?"

"Aye?"

"I'm not wearing those boots. Burn them."

 **Bad Habit 17:** _Their inability to understand that roughhousing is dangerous to hobbits._

"I'm moving back to the Shire."

"Now, there's no need for rash actions, laddie. Just stay still...

"Owwww! What was that?!"

"Just a mild painkiller for the stitching. You'll be less squirmy with it."

"I'm not squirmy."

"Compared to a dwarf, you wriggle around like a nightcrawler."

"What are you doing with that?"

"Stay still..."

"Óin?"

"Now take a deep breath and relax for me."

"Óin!"

The hobbit nearly shrieked when the needle started to pass through his mangled forearm, stomach churning at the mere thought of it moving in and out of his skin. Stitches always made Bilbo terribly queasy and this incident was no exception. However, he would've been a lot calmer if Frodo hadn't been in the room directly next to his own, the lad's knees all scratched up from the tumble they'd taken. A whole feasting hall full of drunk, rowdy dwarves could do a lot of damage to two small and much lighter-boned hobbits, as they had discovered twenty minutes ago.

"There you are."

"Oh, hello, darling. Don't mind me or the giant needle that's stuck in my arm."

"So melodramatic..."

The King ignored his cranky spouse and asked, "How is it?"

"He'll be fine. I had to remove some splinters from the chairs he'd crashed into, but other than that, there should be no complications."

"Will he need to take anything?"

"Neither of the lads take well to poppy milk, so I'll give you some of my tonics for them."

"I'm still here, in case either of you forgot."

"And it'd be wise to keep him out of the garden as well. Don't want any dirt coming near the wound."

"Of course."

"Hello, I'm still here."

"Look who's all patched up and almost as good as new," said Dís when she entered the room. "I think the bandages bring out his eyes quite well, don't you?"

Thorin bustled over and asked, "His head? Was it just a bump?"

"Aye, he should only have a headache, but Vída suggested that we wake him every four hours tonight."

"That's it, hand him over."

Bilbo felt no shame in making grabby hands at his sister-in-law, silently demanding that Frodo be brought closer for his personal inspection. He'd had it with dwarves for the week and all he wanted was to curl up in his own bed and sleep the night away. Preferably with their youngest nephew by his side. And for once in his life, Bilbo didn't even care about the nasty punishments that Dwalin and Nori would be handing out this evening.

"Oh, my poor darling," cooed Bilbo, "Just look at that bump."

"It's bigger than I expected."

"That's because we're hobbits. Not dwarves!"

"I gotta puke..."

 **Bad Habit 18:** _An unhealthy obsession with piercing specific parts of their bodies._

"Oh dear..."

Thorin smirked at him. "Like what you see?"

"Ummmm..."

"It took a few hours to position correctly, but I'm pleased with it."

"Well..."

"I'll admit, hiding it has been a bit tedious, but your visit to the Shire worked out very well."

"How long?"

"Sixteen weeks ago. It's fully healed now."

"I can see that."

"Are you just going to stand there and gawp at me?"

"That seems likely."

"It didn't hurt as much as you think it did, I can assure you. Just a nasty pinch or twelve."

"For some reason, I find that hard to believe."

Thorin sighed and gestured for Bilbo to come closer to the bed. Wide eyes still focused on his husband's newly pierced scrotum, Bilbo slowly tottered over to their monstrous bed and attempted not to gape too openly at the silver bead ring. Was that an emerald on the end?

"Aren't you pleased?"

"Of course, I am, Thorin," said the hobbit. "But I can't help worrying whenever you receive a new one. What if you develop an infection down there?"

"I received the most dangerous one over eight decades ago. This piercing was minor in comparison."

"Don't remind me."

Bilbo tried to keep his eyes to himself, but it was impossible with Thorin laying there buck naked, shamelessly exposed, and sporting that conceited smirk that he favored so much. Honestly, Bilbo didn't understand how dwarves had so few children; they were ridiculously horny _all_ the time, especially after receiving a new piercing or inking, as his husband was attesting to right now. Glóin and Dala had to be doing _something_ to prevent Gimli from having a dozen or more siblings. Poor Hania needed to take their advice or get some pointers; the poor lass was already on her third pregnancy in as many years.

"You're ignoring me."

"No, I'm just trying to assess the situation."

"But he's saying hello!"

"Oh goodness," snorted Bilbo around a laugh. "Are we starting that again."

"He missed you."

"Well, I missed him, too."

"Then undress and show him some appreciation. He's starting to get cold. It's unpleasant."

"You're certain it won't hurt you?"

Thorin rolled his eyes. "I pierced my penis with a gigantic needle for you. Three times, I'd like to add."

"I had no involvement in the first one."

"Bilbo, you're killing me here. My jewels are literally turning blue! And I'm not talking about the barbell or rings!"

"Oh, alright. Hello there..."

 **Bad Habit 19:** _Sabotaging a certain hobbit's monthly hair trims._

"Where are you going?"

Bilbo tucked away his handkerchief and said, "Where do you think I'm going?"

"Dale."

"Very good. Do you want a cookie?"

"Now you're just being difficult," said the King. "Why are you going down there?"

"Because I need to pick up some fruits and vegetables from Farmer Bjorn's stalls." Bilbo grabbed his coin purse from the receiving room table. "He always has the best pine nuts and apples at this point in the season."

"You're not allowed to leave. I forbid it."

"Oh, really," drawled the hobbit. "And how do you plan on stopping me?"

"I'll tie you to the bed."

"Not in the daylight, darling. We don't need to mentally and emotionally scar the boys again."

"I know what you're going down there for," pouted Thorin. He was like a small child at times. "And I don't like it. At all. Not one bit."

Bilbo sighed. "I need a hair trim, sweetheart."

"No, you don't," argued the King. "You look beautiful with longer hair. And I can finally braid it properly!"

"It's poking me in the eyeballs."

The hobbit tugged at several of his curls for good measure. It was nearly to his shoulders now, much longer than any respectable male hobbit would allow it to grow in the Shire. Unlike dwarves, who mostly had straight or slightly wavy hair, hobbits tended to grow thick bundles of curls all over their heads. Tangling was always a problem for anyone brave—or stupid—enough to grow it out. Because of this, even Bilbo's female kin rarely allowed their hair to extend past the upper back, especially after marrying and having children. It required far too much work to care for, no matter what Thorin said on the matter.

"All you need to do is allow me to tie it back again. Like I did last week for you."

"I don't like sleeping on a bunch of braids."

"But I could—"

"The answer is no, Thorin. Now, I've really got to hurry along. Bombur and Ori will be waiting for me at the fountain."

"Ori?"

"He's coming with me for a hair trim," said Bilbo as he grabbed his favorite coat and a pair of gloves. Early autumn was quite chilly in the Dale Lands. "Have you seen what Dori does to him?"

"Aye, the bowl cut."

"Utterly dreadful, the poor lad. No wonder Nori ran away. And I'll just be..." Thorin stood in front of the door. "What are you doing, darling?"

"You aren't allowed to leave."

The hobbit sighed. "Get out of my way, Thorin."

"No."

"I'm going to be late."

"But your hair's finally getting longer and now you—owwwwwww!"

"I warned you."

 **Bad Habit 20:** _Throwing rocks at children's heads as a form of discipline._

"Put the rock down and let the boy go, right now!"

"Your Majesty, he was—"

"I don't care what the lad was doing," snapped Bilbo. "You don't throw rocks at a child."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

Once the older dwarf had walked away, Bilbo turned to the boy and asked, "What did you do this time?"

"He insulted my amad's beard."

"That's not an excuse to bash him over the head, Gimli."

"He asked for it."

"And I've heard that excuse ten too many times to believe it."

With a long-suffering sigh, Bilbo took his honorary nephew by the shoulders and steered him towards the royal apartments. The lad had been having a rather difficult time as of late, what with Fíli, Kíli, and Ori coming of age and Gimli feeling left out as a direct result. Bilbo had been wondering when he'd pick a fight or blow up at someone. But the throwing a rock at an angry child's head thing? Nope, that just wasn't acceptable.

"I thought you were in open court."

"A brawl started about halfway through between the Blacksmith's Guild and the Carpenter's Guild," said Bilbo as he corralled Gimli up the staircases and through the halls. "I didn't feel suicidal enough to stay for the rest of it."

"I'm sure the King was happy."

"He had Master Hokor in a headlock when I last saw him."

They wandered into Bilbo's personal rooms after that, the hobbit bustling about to gather his gardening tools before dragging Gimli out onto the terraces. Apple trees, sweet berry bushes, cabbages, radishes, carrots, and scallions lined the inner walkways, all of them lovingly tended to and provided with ample protection and sunlight. Thorin had designed much of it himself, although the Company had added their own touches here and there. It had been Glóin who had personally constructed the small waterfall and stream system that weaved throughout the Consort's beloved gardens.

"Would you be a dear and help me pick these pears, Gimli? My height's working against me, I fear."

"Aye, where's the stool?"

Within a half hour, Bilbo had four baskets full of pears and three bushels of cabbages. The best part was Gimli, though. He no longer looked like a depressed red squirrel, which always made Bilbo's heart clench with worry. He was a good lad, if a little brash at times, and definitely one of Bilbo's favored dwarves. And because of that, he would have first taste of the Consort's famous apple—

"Owww! What just hit me?"

Bilbo turned around and spied a whistling Gimli about ten feet away from him. The lad's hands were hidden behind his back. A garden of fresh vegetables and pebbles surrounded his feet. Very suspicious.

"Hmmm, Gimli, did you happen to—"

Thunk.

"What have I told you about throwing rocks!"

Thunk.

"Oh, that's it! We'll see who—"

Thunk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bilbo occasionally talks to his husband's penis. Totally healthy foreplay and habit, right there. And thank you to everyone for the great suggestions, I've got 74 of them so far. 
> 
> Now, serious question for readers: Does it really bug most of you that I don't include much in the way of moderate to explicit sex? I've gotten numerous complaints across all sites about omitting that kinda stuff since I started posting this series. I'd be willing to try my hand at it, but only if readers don't mind me doing that in the future. Not to smut level, but a bit more than what I've done so far.


	5. Bad Habits 21-25

**Bad Habit 21:** _Attempting to burn anything remotely elven in nature._

"What are you doing?!"

"Removing these old piles of parchment. Half of them are covered in mold and—"

"Owwww!"

"Get away from those right now! Unhand them!"

"But we were given—"

"I do not care! Put them down and back away from the table!"

"Owwww!"

"Your Highness, they're all elven and have—"

"My husband put you up to this, didn't he? Oh, don't attempt to run away from me now."

"We were just—"

"Following the orders of your King," snapped Bilbo. "I'm well aware of that, but it doesn't excuse the burning of books."

"Our King was very specific."

At the hobbit's glare, both dwarves warily eyed the massive Khuzdul tome that Bilbo had in his hands. He had walloped them something fierce when he'd caught them piling a large stack of elven manuscripts in front of the library's fireplace. They would have the bumps on their heads to prove it.

"You have our sincerest apologies, Your Highness."

Bilbo pinched his nose and said, "Yes, and I thank you for that. I assume my husband's in open court?"

The guards nodded.

"Well, alright then. It looks like Erebor's King needs a valuable lesson on the preservation of history and medicine." Bilbo tucked several of the sturdier texts under his arms and marched off. "And I'm going to give it to him."

It only took fifteen minutes for Bilbo to reach his destination.

"And there you are..."

The King Under the Mountain sat upon his stalactite throne, attention trained on two guild masters who appeared to be arguing over territory disputes again. His husband had an expressionless mask on his face, but Bilbo would tell by the line of his shoulders that he was frustrated. Normally, the hobbit would be sympathetic, but he was too livid to offer any of it today.

"Of all the gall..."

Without an ounce of hesitation, Bilbo walked up and thunked his husband of the head. He then whacked Dwalin for good measure. Balin and Dís were exempted from a book-head-collision since they'd never agree with such an awful practice in the first place.

"Owwww! What was—"

"If I catch _any_ of you attempting to burn books again," threatened Erebor's Consort, "I swear, I will knock you out, bury your stinking carcass in my garden, and then let the afternoon sun roast your brains out."

After the Consort had stomped off behind the throne, everything was silent for a few long moments and then...

"He's rather attractive when he's angry, isn't he?" said Thorin. "It brings out his—"

Thunk!

 **Bad Habit 22:** _Constantly comparing a dwarf's beard length to his penis length._

"It's so puny."

"Absolutely terrible. No wonder he doesn't use the communal baths."

"Reckon it's barely more than a braid."

"Not even that."

"And it's such a strange occurrence. His father's was so grand and thick, the poor lad."

"Maybe it comes from his amad's side."

"Aye, that's always a possibility. Happened to my cousin. He never quite grew into his, I fear."

"Terrible business."

"Never quite understand what went wrong there."

About ten yards away from this gossipy jibber jabber sat Erebor's Consort, his small form huddled around a pile of ledgers and crop quotas at the bottom of the training hall stands. Bilbo's lips mimicked the scandal and chitchat that was taking place behind him, mentally laughing at the melodramatic manner in which the dwarves described their beards and penises. Honestly, they were worse than _hobbits_ when it came to gossip and hearsay.

"You look pained, ghivashel."

"The wheat quotas are a little lower than last year," said Bilbo. "And I've spent the last twenty minutes learning the penis lengths of Kíli's entire garrison."

"Ah, so it's one of those days."

"It would appear that our lad's fuzzy sideburns haven't stopped the rumors. Maybe the inkings would be—"

"Not yet. He's still too young and fresh to the field."

"I know."

Bilbo leaned into his husband's sweaty form, fingers absently tracing the intricate inkings that covered most of his bare torso, shoulders, and upper arms. A disturbing array of scars also dotted it. Dwarves usually didn't receive inkings until their 100th birthday, which was still a few years away for their stubbly and self-conscious middle nephew. Bilbo wondered if slipping laxatives into certain dishes and drinks would be an abuse of power.

"Uh oh..."

"What's wrong? You didn't shove sandpaper down Dwalin's underpants again, did you?"

"I think Currin overheard everything."

"Oh dear..."

Lo and behold, right across the hall from them stood Currin's ever imposing form, golden eyes narrowed at the still gossiping dwarves behind them. With a dog-like tilt of her head, the shapeshifter walked over to an exhausted looking Fíli and whispered something in his ear. It only took a few moments for a vengeful smirk to stretch across the older prince's face, both of Currin's cousins joining in the evil scheme as well.

"Are you insulting my manhood, grub-digger?!" shouted Cathel, hands shoving down his ratty pants without any shame. "See that! It _dwarfs_ yours, princeling!"

"By the Green Lady..."

"You call that impressive?" snickered Fíli. "Try this for size, flea-bag!"

With a disgusted glare at the prince's dwarfhood, Roisin was the next to say, "Neither of you have anything to flaunt! Look at this!"

"I can't even see it with all that scraggly hair!"

And just like that, pants were dropping all around the hall, dwarves and skin-changers alike showing off their equipment and arguing over whose was most endowed and if a non-biased judge could be located. It only took Bilbo a moment to spot Kíli, who was also pants-less just like his older brother, which wasn't surprising if one considered how much influence Fíli had over him.

Currin smirked at all of them.

"Huh," said a voice from behind them, "I guess the beard was deceiving this time around."

"They're Durins. That's why."

"Aye, we can't really include them in the list, can we?"

"Rare exception, I say."

Bilbo just rolled his eyes and allowed Thorin to deal with the mayhem that their nephews had caused yet again. Not his problem.

"Stupid dwarves."

 **Bad Habit 23:** _Refusing to visit the infirmary unless a limb or beard has been chopped off._

"Don't make me come over there!"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not! By Eru, your arm's just dangling there!"

"Dwalin's worse."

"And I'm just about to deal with—hey! Get back here! No, bad dwarf! No cupcakes for you!"

"That's dirty."

"I don't care. Both of you look like chewed up wargs."

"Rude, too."

Bilbo grabbed his dwarves by their uninjured arms and hauled them off towards the infirmary, muttering the whole way about insufferable cretins and their complete inability to assess the severity of bloody wounds. After determining that all limbs and beards were accounted for, Thorin and Dwalin had continued to spar with one another, both ignoring an impressive array of lacerations on their upper arms and hips. And the visiting Ironfist delegation had _nothing_ to do with their ridiculous posturing and bull-headedness, either. Of course not, that was just silly, and how could Bilbo say such a horrible thing to them.

He was truly surrounded by idiots.

"I have some more patients for you," said Bilbo as he barged into the infirmary, "Please take them off my hands and administer any treatment or torture that you see fit. I'll be waiting over here."

"What have they done now?" asked Óin with an aggrieved sigh. "If there's another kicked in groin..."

"Just lacerations all over the place."

"Why does that not surprise me. Both of them have been pulling these stunts for decades."

Thorin huffed. "You exaggerate."

"I'm sorely tempted to just let you bleed out one of these times," said Óin. "Now sit your bum down and let me look at it."

"Sadistic tyrant."

"Well, now let's see what we've got here."

"It's not—owwww!"

"And that would be a pulled muscle," grumbled the healer. "Both gashes will be needing stitches, it seems."

Dwalin shrugged and said, "At least your beard's fine."

"You nearly chopped it off!"

"Aye, and that's what you'd deserve for walking straight into Grasper's path."

"Knock it off!"

Both dwarves cowered at the sight of their cousin and Bilbo glaring at them. The former had a bunch of needles and thread in his hands while the latter wielded a large bottle of alcohol and two tubs of ointment. The King and guard captain knew this drill all too well.

"I'll bash your brains in if I need to," threatened Óin. He waved the menacing needles at them. "Save myself some ale and poppy milk, that's for sure."

"Poppy milk sounds good."

"Very good."

"Then button up and let me do my job. Idiots."

After that, Bilbo applied the stinging cream and said, "At least you have your beards, though, right?"

"You husband's a cruel creature."

"Aye, I know."

 **Bad Habit 24:** _Picking on hobbits who are not capable of advanced arithmetic, including geometry and calculus._

"This makes absolutely no sense."

"I think Uncle Balin's just trying to torture me."

"Why is there a squiggly?"

"Dwina told me what it was, but I don't remember. It's all confusing."

"Why are there letters?"

"I don't know," lamented Frodo. "I don't like being dumb!"

"Why isn't it the same on both sides?"

"Maybe I should just write failure all over it. I'd make a terrible dwarf. Not smart enough."

"Why? It looks the same here _and_ here!"

A chuckle suddenly came from behind them and the familiar voice of their King asked, "Is there a problem here, âzyungel?"

"You know very well what the problem is."

"Now, now, there's no need to get snippy. Especially not over a basic question on plane geometry."

Bilbo snorted and said, "Believe it or not, darling, I was always decent at _basic_ arithmetic. But this? This isn't basic at all."

"You exaggerate, umzam."

"I have never even seen numbers or letters or whatever this is before," snapped Bilbo. "Did Balin just make this up? Because it looks awfully fishy and I have literally never seen anything like it."

"But I'm sure hobbits would have—"

"We don't use arithmetic like this, Thorin! It's like gobbledygook, but with numbers."

The King looked genuinely puzzled.

"Are you sure Frodo should be learning this? It's far beyond anything even a carpenter would need in the Shire."

"Of course, any dwarfling needs to—"

Bilbo sighed. "He's not a dwarf, darling. We're hobbits."

"I know."

"Perhaps we should just stick to the maps and languages and basic arithmetic for now? Practical stuff for a faunt."

"But he needs to learn it." Thorin pointed at the third problem and said, "This here is just a basic polygon. Used in engineering all the time. If Frodo understands this, he'll be able to speak with the architects and guilds about their work. And this all the way back here is finding the derivative of the point. All of our engineers use this specific type of calculus on a daily basis."

Frodo wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't wanna be an engineer."

"Truly?"

"Well, I guess the theory part is alright, but not the arithmetic."

The older hobbit snickered and kissed Thorin on the cheek. "I think you just broke your uncle's heart. And maybe his brain, too."

"My nephew doesn't like arithmetic. By Mahâl, this is a travesty."

"I don't mind the easier stuff," assured Frodo, small arms wrapping around Thorin's neck in a comforting hug. "But this part's just nasty. None of it makes sense."

Bilbo kissed his broody husband again. "See? No calculus and he'll be breezing through it."

"Hobbits are strange."

 **Bad Habit 25:** _Stuffing an entire cabinet full of hair-care products._

"Where in Arda are my brass buttons?"

"Over here?"

"No, I already checked that table, darling. Your uncle's knives are in there."

"What about Kíli?"

"He won't be touching anything after what happened last time. The lad knows better now."

Frodo snickered. "I thought it was hilarious."

"Of course, you did."

Bilbo dug through the drawers of his bureau, pushing aside fifteen or more bottles of hair oils and lotions and dozens of brushes and herbal soaps. At least eight containers of beads were stored all over the place, their specific order and hierarchy a mystery to Bilbo's non-dwarven mind. After a bit more rummaging, an extra-sharp pick stabbed him in the finger and Bilbo cursed at the accursed contraption.

"By Eru," snapped the hobbit, "Your uncle's hair-care products are taking over everything!"

"You just noticed that?"

"I don't think even a quarter of this stuff belongs to me. And where did all of these new bottles come from?"

"We're hobbits, we don't understand."

"Honestly, who in their right mind needs this many bottles of hair oil."

"A hairy beast?"

"Well, you may be right about that one, sweetheart."

"I think they stink."

"The nose knows," said Bilbo with a scoff. "Where in Arda did he even get all of these?"

"Look! There's a note."

Bilbo picked up the small parchment, hazel eyes narrowing at the flowy and distinctly feminine handwriting upon it. He was quite familiar with the styles that Dís, Hania, Dala, Glóril, Gella, Bard's daughters, and the female skin-changers all favored; Bilbo had samples of them throughout his rooms, each accompanying a lovely gift or letter that they had given to him.

This one wasn't familiar to him. And it was definitely dwarven in nature.

"Uh oh..."

"I believe that's a very astute observation, sweetheart. And I think I know where these bottles came from now."

"Uncle Thorin's in trouble?"

"That depends upon the manner of his explanation," said Bilbo, "And the circumstances behind these...unfamiliar notes. Hmmmm, perhaps I should pay a visit to the training halls later this evening."

"I thought all the lady dwarves thought Uncle Thorin was ugly?"

The older hobbit sniffed and said, "Not when a throne and enormous treasury are involved, darling. They do give compliments about his _luscious_ hair, though."

"Well, it _is_ very soft and fluffy."

"Indeed."

"You're going to interrogate him, aren't you?"

"There's some blueberry scones and spiced beef in the kitchen," said Bilbo as he grabbed his jacket and the notes. "I'll be back in an hours time and I expect that arithmetic paper to be finished, understood?"

Frodo sighed and gave a petulant nod.

"Good, now stop staring and actually start working on it." The Consort sniffed in irritation. "I've a husband to contend with."

"Better him than me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally _despise_ calculus. It is the _only_ math that I ever had difficulty with, and it nearly killed my undergrad GPA, so my hatred is probably shining through here. Guilty as charged. And yet again, thanks for the suggestions everyone! I have over 80 habits so far, which is amazing and I'm pretty excited to write some of them. Despite the lower standards of this particular piece/story, I really hope everyone is enjoying it so far.


	6. Bad Habits 26-30

**Bad Habit 26:** _Inking up almost every part of their bodies, including nether regions and dangly bits._

"I don't know. It seems a bit much."

"You said that you liked the design that Ori had been working on the other week."

"But I didn't expect you to do this!"

Thorin sighed. "Most dwarves of my position and stature are inked throughout the whole of their bodies."

"I suppose I could grow used to it."

And that was how Bilbo learned that his husband had decided to ink up his entire penis. The Dwarf-King had been walking funny all evening, purposely avoiding hard surfaces and any attempts that their nephews made at roughhousing or weapons training. Thorin had even kept his distance from Bilbo, which was certainly not his usual or preferred mode of interaction on warm summer nights.

"Does it still hurt?"

The King snorted. "Would you be laying there unattended if it didn't?"

"Well, considering how circumstances were with the Firebeard delegation last month," sniffed Bilbo, "You're lucky I'm even willing to have you in our bed at all. This isn't my idea of a praiseworthy gift, either."

"And I have apologized for that ten-fold."

"You're just lucky I didn't stomp back to the Shire and order the Thain to attack any dwarf stupid enough to pass through our borders."

Thorin winced when the hobbit poked at his aching scrotum. "I will never be able to apologize enough for the terrible rumors and jeers and misunderstandings that plagued your ever-lovely heels, ghivashel. But such a harsh punishment for a breach of conduct that I wasn't even aware of?"

"Aye, you're right."

"See, I've always said you're far too kind and loving to—"

"I demand frequent visits from Fíli and Kíli," said Bilbo, his face now level with Thorin's penis so that he could thoroughly inspect it. "Preferably every two or three years, at the minimum. Rivendell can be used as a halfway meeting place, if need be."

"What?!"

"Giving up my nephews isn't an option."

There was nothing joking in Bilbo's voice this time around, his fingers poking at the Khuzdul inkings that now covered Thorin's aching perineum. He knew the risks that came with hurting Bilbo's heart again; the hobbit would not tolerate mistreatment of anything near the Arkenstone Debacle's variety and Bilbo would march back to the Shire if he felt threatened or tossed aside to rot like before. And he'd take Frodo with him.

"My inkings are a final testament to our union, âzyungel. There is nothing more telling and powerful to my people than the inked claims upon my most vulnerable of skin."

Bilbo was silent, fingers and eyes lightly brushing over each new inking. The entire region was inflamed and very raw, but the intricate runes could just barely be deciphered by anyone familiar with the Khuzdul writing system. And Bilbo had become quite familiar with it over the past decade. He knew what those runes meant and the pain that his husband have gone through to receive them.

"I don't know whether to be nauseated or not," admitted Bilbo. "But it's a start. In a dwarven fashion, I suppose."

"Thank Mahâl..."

 **Bad Habit 27:** _Writing up a contract for absolutely everything._

"This is absolutely ridiculous, Thorin."

"No, it's an absolute necessity. No amount of complaining or puffing will change my mind, either."

"I don't puff."

The King chuckled. "You would float away if I wasn't present to catch you."

"Utter lies."

All Thorin did was snort, eyes skimming over the contract that Balin was currently drawing up across the table from them. Their nephews and Nori sat on the far side of the room, a puzzle board and several pieces of dice resting in front of the fireplace as Nori explained the rules. It was apparently some far eastern game—from the magnificent island city of Skad at the center of Lake Burskadekdar—that involved a great deal of strategy and foresight in order to outwit an opponent. Ironically, Frodo appeared to be the most adept at it so far.

"I highly doubt Hamfast Gamgee would expect such complicated papers. All he's providing us with is several shipments of seed and pipeweed."

"And it's our obligation to compensate him to the fullest," said Thorin as he leaned over to inspect the wording of Balin's latest paragraph. "Having everything in writing is essential to prevent any chance of misunderstanding or blood feud."

"Blood feud?! Hobbits have no such thing!"

"I distinctly remember some stories about one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that sounded distinctly like a blood feud," said Balin. He finished off another sentence with a flourish of his pen. "Best to protect your friend from all potential legal ramifications, no matter how miniscule."

"Lobelia's just a harpy. She'd faint at the mere sight of blood."

"Then I know what my primary goal should be upon our next visit to the Shire," snickered Thorin with a wolfish smile. "I'm sure Dwalin wouldn't mind sparing some of his...expertise to terrify such an awful woman."

"You will not!"

Balin tapped at the paper. "I assume there will be no need for a compensation of weapons?"

"Poor Hamfast would just stab himself."

"Well, that rules out a half dozen methods of payment," mumbled the scribe. "Perhaps a few jewels from the treasury? And gold pieces?"

"He'd probably faint from the jewels, too."

The King sighed. "By Mahâl, you hobbits are absolutely impossible to satisfy!"

"It didn't sound like that last night!"

A loud hacking sound came from Fíli as he nearly choked on the large tankards of ale that Nori had brought with him, Frodo grabbing at the poor dwarf's back to keep him from toppling into the fireplace. Nori was, of course, delighted to hear such salacious news. Typical.

"Ewwww, that's disgusting! Why'd you have to do that, Kíli!"

"Hey, I'm the one who was traumatized by it! I've been telling Amad for _years_ that they need a thicker door!"

"We should draw up a contract for that."

"Definitely."

 **Bad Habit 28:** _Bragging and terribly exaggerating about their spouse's prowess in bed._

"I dare you to say that again!"

Kíli whacked his head on the table and released a pained groan. After that, he started to bang a large spoon against his skull, bemoan the utter insanity that was dwarven marriage, and mumble prayers for mercy to Mahâl and every other deity he'd ever heard of. It probably wouldn't work, but why the hell not?

"The Valar hate us. There's no other explanation."

"I'm convinced that I did something terrible in a past life," said Fíli. "Something really, really terrible."

"My brain can't take this much longer."

"Yeah, well, mine's so polluted and traumatized that there's no hope of salvaging it. I can feel the damn thing rotting."

"So traumatized. So damaged. So, so scarred for life."

And then a hand was suddenly combing through Kíli's hair, working away at the tangled knots and aches and scars that littered the prince's scalp. It was familiar and gentle and soothing in all the right ways. Kíli didn't hesitate to lean into his uncle's touch.

"Oh dear, is your stomach acting up again?"

Bilbo already had Kíli's head tilted to the side, a soft palm feeling for any traces of heat that would signal another bout of food poisoning. Erebor's youngest prince had a bad habit of eating fish and meat that wasn't quite ready for consumption yet. Bilbo chalked it up to youthful naiveté; Dís preferred to call it a special blend of Durin stupidity. And considering the frequency of such incidences, Bilbo was starting to agree with her.

"In a manner," Kíli grumbled. "The cause is right over there."

The hobbit followed his finger and released a giant sigh. "Oh bebother the existence of dwarves. They're at it again, aren't they?"

"Flexibility seems to be their topic for today."

"I can't even look at you," said Kíli, head now buried in his arms. "If I do, then I'll see things. Terrible, terrible things."

Bilbo huffed in annoyance and stomped over to the adjoining table, roughly grabbing Thorin and Glóin by their oversized ears. Both dwarves yelped in surprise, cut off in mid-sentence about whose spouse was more spontaneous in the sack. He gave the cartilage an extra twist since Dala wasn't there to deliver her usual contribution. If there was anyone who could make the King and his Company cower in fear, it was Dala and her merciless fingers of doom.

"That's it, you two are coming with me."

"But I have open court in less than an hour," whimpered the King.

"And you'll arrive there right on time," assured Bilbo, fingers switching to Glóin's beard when he attempted to escape. "Don't you even dare, or I _will_ pull on the beard. Now behave yourselves."

"Where are we going? Owww!"

"To find Dala."

"Damn."

 **Bad Habit 29:** _Not having any appreciation for gardens or the maintenance that goes into them._

"You stepped on my dill!"

"How was I supposed to know? It looks just like a weed!"

"No, it looks like an herb!"

"All of them look the same! I mean, just look at that one over there. A clump of grass, is all it is."

"That's rosemary."

"Doesn't change the fact that it looks like a weed."

"You're impossible."

Bilbo stomped off to the far side of his garden, trowel clenched in his hand like a hardened dagger. His nephews and Gimli were laying on the nearby settees, none of them bothering to move out of the Consort's path, all too aware that Bilbo wouldn't turn his foul temper on them. When it came to his fights and squabbles with Thorin, Bilbo always made sure to keep the boys out of the firing line.

"And if I see you take one more step, Dwalin," snapped the hobbit, "I swear that you won't see any cupcakes for a month."

The large dwarf froze in mid-stride, his booted feet very carefully backtracking away from several small patches of basil, thyme, and bean sprouts. It was a comical sight, but Dwalin took his cupcakes quite seriously and wouldn't do anything to endanger their continued existence.

"Good dwarf. Now sit with the boys and don't move, aye?"

"Bossy midget."

"About those cupcakes..."

"I'm going, I'm going," grumbled the warrior. "No need to make rash decisions."

"No respect at all for the food I put upon our table," said Bilbo, tending to his prize tomato plants with a gentleness that masked the irritation underneath. "You'd think for a race that loves to eat so much, they'd be a little bit more careful, but no! Absolutely no foresight. None at all."

"Ghivashel, I can purchase some more—"

"That isn't the point, Thorin! You can't just throw gold and jewels at everything to make it better. Plants take months or years to grow and I don't trust anyone else in this whole mountain to accomplish such a tedious task. Calling dill and rosemary and basil _weeds_. Preposterous!"

"Just give up while you're ahead, Uncle."

"Yeah," drawled Kíli from his favored sunbathing spot, "You'll never win. Not when it comes to the greens and veggies."

Bilbo stuffed a pear into Kíli's mouth as he walked by, the prince flailing in response before finally realizing that he'd been given a reward. And this was the reason why Bilbo was his favorite uncle, too.

"I know," sighed the King. "Can I at least help you with the apple trees?"

"You fell out of the big one last time."

"And it hurt!"

"You stepped on my dill."

"There's just no winning with you, is there?"

"Nope."

 **Bad Habit 30:** _Assigning a terrible name to anyone they don't like, be it individuals or an entire race._

"Stupid tree-hugging, grass-worshippers."

"I don't understand why we allow them inside the mountain to begin with. It's unnatural."

"Bilbo's garden is better than theirs."

"That competition last summer was rigged," sniffed Dwalin. "Our hobbit's tomatoes were finer than that weed-muncher's pathetic display."

"Pointy-eared tree-humpers, the whole lot of them."

About fifteen feet away from Thorin, Dwalin, and Glóin sat Erebor's Consort, his eyes rolling in exasperation at their childish name-calling and insults. The elven delegation had only arrived five hours earlier and there was already a long line of complaints and grumblings that Bilbo would have to field in the near future. The last thing he needed was yet another diplomatic incident, especially with the recent unrest that was stirring in the lands southeast of Rhûn.

Erebor needed every ally it could get right now.

"Thorin, darling," said Bilbo with a strained smile, "I thought we agreed to no insults after noon today?"

"It's not an insult if it's true."

All Bilbo did was sigh and rub at his eyes. "There are so many things I could say about that, but I'm going to take the higher road here."

"By Mahâl, they're an ugly bunch, aren't they?"

"Dwalin!"

"What? I'm just stating the obvious," said the large dwarf. "Not a speck of hair on their faces. Skinny as a beanpole. No muscle or inkings, either."

"Three of those apply to me, I'll have you know."

"But you're absolutely stunning," praised Thorin without a second thought. "Elves don't hold a candle to hobbits."

"And pleasantly plump," added Fíli, slinging an arm around his uncle's shoulders. "The weed-eaters are all bony and tree-like. Not good for cuddles at all."

Bilbo rolled his eyes again. "What's your opinion on humans and skin-changers then?"

"I don't know about humans," said Kíli with a smirk, "But skin-changers are awfully fluffy. I mean, the badgers tend to bite if you get too close, but the wolves and bears are downright poofy. Plus, not all elves are like that."

"Tauriel doesn't count," the older prince pointed out. "She's friends with skin-changers and doesn't act like a normal elf."

"Just _try_ not to insult them too much," Bilbo pleaded. He laid a hand on his husband's arm, purposely playing to Thorin's besotted weaknesses. "I refuse to talk Thranduil down from shooting you in the ass again. It's exhausting and utterly ridiculous."

He got a snort in return. And it was a very rude sounding snort, too. "They're a bunch of bush-screwers. I hope they get poison ivy on their dicks."

"Thorin..."

"I'm not apologizing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like I wasn't joking about the slow updates! My field of study (virology) has been quite active lately, so almost all of my attention has been focused solely on school, research, and current outbreaks around the world. However, I haven't forgotten about this story or another one-shot that has very slowly been coming along. I just hope all of you can be patient with me and my hectic RL schedule.
> 
> And readers seem to have a fondness for Thorin's tattoos and piercings, so those might crop up quite often in the future due to popular demand.


	7. Bad Habits 31-35

**Bad Habit 31:** _Spending hours measuring and assessing the puniest of gems and metals._

"I honestly don't see the difference between either of them."

Glóin snorted in amusement. "Who would've thought? The King Under the Mountain, married to a jewel-hating munchkin?"

"They all look the same," said Bilbo with a sniff. He held an aquamarine and amethyst in each hand, carefully inspecting their luster and cleavage and refractive index and all of the other properties that Glóin had been talking about. "Doesn't luster just mean how shiny something is?"

If possible, the banker looked even more offended. This just wasn't Bilbo's day.

"And to think," grumbled Glóin as he examined a large batch of rubies, "Our very own King married a _flower_ -child. Not being able to tell the difference between an amethyst or aquamarine! I'll not have the same happen with Frodo. I forbid it!"

Bilbo snickered at his friend's oh-so-dwarven indignation. "Should I add gemology to Frodo's itinerary?"

"Immediately!"

"He'll probably enjoy it," said Bilbo. He shook his head with a smile. "The lad's being converted more and more to your dwarven sensibilities. It's a travesty."

Glóin pointed at him. "I see what you did there."

"Do you now?"

"You turned that right around and threw it back at me," huffed the redhead. "Silver-tongued devil, is what you are. Hobbits..."

"Insulting the Consort again, cousin?"

Bilbo hummed when familiar hands settled on his hips, whiskery kisses dotting up and down his neck as the King leaned over to examine the large diamonds and rubies and emeralds in Bilbo's little pile of gems. It belonged to a young jeweler who'd scurried off to retrieve lunch, his gems left under the watchful eye of Erebor's Consort. Of course, Bilbo knew next to nothing about rocks and precious metals and gemstones, but guarding them wasn't necessarily beyond his field of expertise. He was just more well-known for taking and hiding gems like the Arkenstone instead of parading them about for all to see like dwarves were more prone to do.

"Just pointing out the essential differences between dwarves and hobbits. And attempting to finish your little project, too."

"Project?"

Thorin kissed the curious hobbit's forehead and walked away to speak with Glóin in hushed whispers. And some rather unsubtle batches of Iglishmêk. Honestly, hadn't the dwarves learned by now that Iglishmêk was a dead giveaway to mischief being afoot? Bilbo would have no patience for plots today.

"Darling, what are you up to?"

If possible, Thorin and Glóin looked even more shifty. They continued to murmur and growl at each other, the latter even poking at this elder cousin to prove a point about something that only dwarves would probably understand. With a shake of his head, Bilbo went back to the amethyst pile and attempted to determine the worth of each tiny gemstone. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was always best to appear busy in the guild halls.

"Silly dwarves. Always bickering over puny pieces of rock that aren't even—"

And then a golden rose of white and pink diamonds—or what Bilbo assumed were diamonds, they all looked so much alike—was shoved underneath his nose. A blur of red and brown could be seen in Bilbo's peripheral vision, Glóin skedaddling out of the room while the hobbit was distracted. Eyes wide with surprise, Bilbo looked up at Thorin, eyes widening even further when he saw the nervous flush that had spread across his husband's cheeks.

"Since it's winter and none of your plants can survive until we finish the greenhouse this spring, I thought maybe you'd like something to tide you over. And I know it's not the same as your rose bushes or tulips or morning glories, but maybe, well..."

With a happy smile and gentle hand, Bilbo took the beautiful flower and said, "I absolutely love it." And then he leaned forward to give his very-dwarven husband a very grateful kiss. Maybe jewels weren't so bad after all. "Do you know what it means? The flower _and_ the colors?"

"I love you still and always will, sanmizim."

"Very good."

 **Bad Habit 32:** _Nudity._

"I'm not stepping out like this."

"You are far too concerned with propriety, sanghivasha. I'll never understand why hobbits are so fussy about clothes and other such things."

"I apologize if strutting around in the buff isn't a staple of our culture."

A nearly naked Thorin walked over and gently rubbed his husband's tense shoulders. A loose towel was wrapped around the Dwarf-King's waist, barely covering his modesty and doing nothing at all to cover his extensive network of inkings. As usual, Thorin looked every inch the warrior king that he was, tall and muscular and broad-shouldered like the great heroes that Bilbo's mother had told bedtime stories about. The inkings just added even more to the effect, giving Thorin an air of power and mystique that an unfortunate amount of people had noticed in recent months.

It made Bilbo feel small and soft in comparison.

"We don't have to stay for more than an hour or so," assured the King. "The communal pools have been buried since the reclamation and it's expected that you and I be the ones to officially open them. It'll only be a short appearance, âzyungel, I promise."

"That doesn't make it any less embarrassing."

A soft kiss was placed upon the hobbit's ear. "You have no reason to be embarrassed, sanmizim. Our people will be too busy enjoying themselves to pay any attention to us. We dwarves are quite fond of swimming, after all."

"I'll just sink like all other hobbits."

"You know I'd never allow that to happen," said Thorin. He was more than a little offended. "Besides, you can swim. I've seen it with my own eyes."

"Not very well. I just kinda float and doggy paddle."

"That's swimming."

Bilbo fiddled with the two towels he had wrapped around himself. Fíli, Kíli, and Frodo could be heard through the hallway door, all three of them excited to play around in the natural pools that dominated the lowest halls of the eastern mountain. They had been buried by Smaug's rampage and it had taken over four years of digging to unearth and restore them. All they were waiting on now was for their uncles to emerge from the royal changing room.

"Something else is bothering you. Will you not speak of it to me?"

"I'd rather no one outside of our family or the Company see me in the nude, that's all," said Bilbo, fingers fiddling with the towel's knots. "Some of our subjects are already less than pleased about having a non-dwarven consort, so throwing my pointed ears and pudgy hairlessness into their faces probably isn't the wisest action right now. The Company was one thing, but others..."

A gentle finger tilted Bilbo's head up by the chin, the Dwarf-King's eyes soft with affection and adoration. Thorin's other hand rubbed up and down the hobbit's back, always careful with the unmarred skin and fragile muscles that rested beneath it. Yet another part of Bilbo that was non-dwarven. It normally didn't bother Bilbo, but the prospect of facing so many Longbeards in the buff was more than a little intimidating. He was so visibly different from them, quite literally from foot to skull; fuzzy feet and unruly curls were unheard of amongst his husband's people. And to be so naked in front of them? It was not respectable.

"Look at me."

Bilbo moved his eyes from the inking that he'd been staring at on Thorin's left shoulder. It was intricate and beautiful and told the story of Erebor's fall to Smaug. The runes were some of the most detailed that Bilbo had ever seen. It would catch the eye of everyone who saw it.

"You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen."

"I'm not sure about—"

"And everyone else in the hall will pale in comparison to you. Only my sister and the boys will hold a candle to you."

"Now you're just speaking nonsense."

"I'm the King Under the Mountain. My word is law and if I say my Consort is the most beautiful creature in the lands, then it's true."

"And there comes the ego..."

 **Bad Habit 33:** _Leaving their weapons lying about and within reach of children._

"What in the world were you thinking?!"

"Ummm..."

"We have an eleven-year-old faunt running around these rooms, sticking his nose everywhere it doesn't belong, and you leave an entire belt's worth of knives just laying on the receiving room table. There's not excuse for that kind of mistake."

"I've already spoken with him about safety and—"

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. "That doesn't matter, Thorin. He's too young to understand the danger that comes with swords and knives and axes. Or even a bow and arrow. To him, they're just nifty and fun-looking objects that adults are allowed to use and he isn't. That's a dangerous combination."

"Dwarf children often learn how to use knives by their twentieth birthday," said Thorin. "In hobbit years, Frodo isn't much younger than that. He's surrounded by them all the time, so it's only right that he learn about the different weapons."

"Keyword: hobbit. We're not natural fighters and you know it."

"He needs to—"

"Basic self-defense is more than enough for now. And Dwalin's been doing a fine job of teaching it to him."

With a huff of frustration, Thorin flopped down in his favorite chair, scowling at the fireplace like it had personally offended him. Bilbo just stood off to the side, left eyebrow raised at his husband's special brand of brooding. This had been a common argument over the past few weeks, mostly due to the fact that Donel and Dwina had started their training with weapons about a fortnight ago.

"You know that I'm not opposed to Frodo learning some knife or sword work once he's sixteen or so years old," Bilbo assured, "But it's just something that doesn't come natural to hobbits, darling. He seems curious at times, but I can still see his hesitation."

"Kíli wishes to teach him how to use the bow."

"I may be willing to allow that a little earlier than the others," said the hobbit with a knowing smile. Kíli had been dropping hints for months about it. "But we'll have to wait until his next growth spurt. Frodo's so much smaller than the other children..."

"Should I feel guilty for wishing him to stay that way?"

"Considering you've already raised two boys to adulthood, it's understandable that you'd wish for your youngest to remain a child for as long as possible."

Thorin was fiddling with a long knife now, eyeing it with all of the intensity that he normally reserved for orc-slaying, guild wars, and hating Thranduil's elven guts. The hobbit couldn't quite pinpoint what was going through his husband's thoughts, but that had always been an issue with the stoic dwarf. Erebor's King was quite good at concealing his emotions when he put his mind to it.

"I agree."

Bilbo's brow furrowed. "About what?"

"That Frodo should _never_ learn how to use weapons." Thorin nodded to himself, quite obviously convinced that he was in the right. "I was being far too hasty. He can learn the bow and a small knife, but that's it."

"Oh goodness," moaned the hobbit, "Now you've twisted my words around for your benefit."

"He's not allowed to grow up, either."

"Now you're just being silly," said Bilbo with a shake of his head. "Just plain silly. I shouldn't have even mentioned it."

"I'm never silly."

 **Bad Habit 34:** _Never using the silverware._

"Dwalin! Don't you dare use your fingers!"

The large dwarf froze in mid-bite, dark eyes wide as he stared up at the looming hobbit. Bilbo stood at the end of the table with a spatula in one hand and a plate of mixed-berry cookies and pumpkin cupcakes in the other, the former shaking in Dwalin's general direction. Such a thing wouldn't appear intimidating to outsiders, but Erebor's royal family and those close to them knew better.

"Ummm..."

"I've told you time and time again not to eat scrambled eggs with your fingers!" scolded Bilbo. "It's bad manners and unsightly and have you even washed your hands?"

"Ugh..."

Bilbo set his spatula and desserts aside on the counter and bustled over to Dwalin, grabbing the guard captain's hands to inspect each of them. A thick grim of dirt, grease, and what appeared to be sword polish coated the dwarf's palm and fingers. The tips of his nails were black with dirt and who knows what else and Bilbo wouldn't be having any of that in his kitchen.

"Off to the sink with you. Get to it."

"But I—"

"Uh uh, you know the rules. I won't have fingers like that at my table."

The guard captain stood up with a huff and lumbered over to the sink, longingly staring at the stack of pumpkin cupcakes that were right next to it. If he didn't cooperate, then they would be fed to the lads and that just wasn't going to happen. Those cupcakes were his!

"Furry-footed slave driver..."

"I heard that!"

A snicker came from Dwalin's right side and he had to restrain himself from punching the owner's face. If it hadn't been for the cupcakes, Dwalin probably would have used a frying pan to knock that smug smirk off his best friend's stupid face. The fool was a traitor whenever the hobbit was involved.

"Five years and you still haven't learned your lesson."

Dwalin scrubbed at his hands and said, "This coming from the dwarf who licks his bowl after every meal. Hypocrite."

"I'll have you know that I'm a very polite eater."

"The hobbit doesn't see your evil ways," Dwalin snarled. "You use the boys to distract him all the time. Especially Kíli. He's your scapegoat."

Thorin scoffed. "I would never do such a thing to my own flesh and blood."

"I'm your flesh and blood!"

"And Dís isn't your mother, so I don't have to fear having my spleen removed by you," said Thorin, mouth full of his husband's delicious pork and vegetable stew. It was like heaven in his mouth. Almost as good as sex. Almost. "Or my liver. That was her latest threat of bodily harm on my person."

"Kíli! How many times have I told you to use a spoon!"

"Ouch!"

 **Bad Habit 35:** _Believing that a tunnel is an answer to everything._

"Do I even want to know what's going on here?"

"We're digging a tunnel."

"I can see that. My question is _why_ are you digging a tunnel underneath Bard's home?"

"So that Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda will have a place to hide if their home is ever attacked or invaded," said Kíli, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "You can never be too careful nowadays and Amad's always said a good, sturdy tunnel is the best defense a dwarf could ever have."

"Does Bard know you're doing this?"

The pause in his nephews' and Bofur's digging was all the answer Bilbo needed on that subject. Honestly, dwarves could be so obvious when they riled themselves up into a crafting or mining mood; even Thorin could be thrown into a tizzy when blacksmithing, focus so pure and intense that Bilbo often wondered whether or not Erebor's King would even hear if another dragon came crashing through the front gates.

"I'll have you know that I think this is a terrible—"

"We've finished this side!"

The sudden appearance of Bain and Tilda almost made Bilbo bang his head against the nearest wall. Not only was he going to have to explain to Bard why there were a bunch of tunnels twisting around beneath his home, he'd also have to explain how the Prince and Princess of Dale had participated in the vandalism. And his harvest check had been going so well, too.

"It'll connect to a hidden door in the cellar," explained Kíli as he shoveled another lump of dirt out of the ground. "Sigrid's working on the proper spot right now. She's quite the mathematician. Very good at geometry and civil engineering."

"And who's going to tell _Bard_ about this?"

"We'll be leaving that to Sigrid, too," said Fíli from where he was helping Tilda with her shovel. "He favors her logic over everybody else's and Sig will make him see reason. A good tunnel is always something you should have in your back pocket."

Bilbo sighed and turned to Bofur. "I assume this is a dwarf thing?"

"Aye. We like our tunnels."

"Really? I would've never guessed," said Bilbo, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "The mountains were somewhat of a hint, I suppose."

The miner just grinned at him and disappeared down the nearest hole. Large piles of dirt flew out of it every few seconds, each of them efficient and precisely thrown so that the entrance wouldn't be clogged. It was quite impressive, if one could get past the fact that the tunnel was going underneath Bard's _house_. And people thought hobbits were obsessed with holes in the ground.

"I'm going to speak with Sigrid. Perhaps she's retained some sanity."

"See you at dinner, Uncle!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! I haven't abandoned it! Just super busy lately with my doctoral research and all of the lovely and mind-numbing classes that come along with it. So, aside from that, I've got a question for readers: over Christmas break, I'm thinking of doing a short (3 or 4-ish chapters) story on the direct aftermath of _The Battle of the Five Armies_. It will function as both a stand-alone story and a direct prequel to _An Unexpected Addition_ and this series as a whole. I've dropped some hints about my take on the aftermath in all of my stories, so some of you might know or guess about what to anticipate. Any thoughts?


	8. Bad Habits 36-40

**Bad Habit 36:** _Food fights._

"Why did I marry a dwarf?"

Bilbo sat at the royal dining table in Erebor's Great Hall, surrounded on all sides by dwarves, dwarves, and more dwarves. Normally, this wouldn't bother him. After all, he had married the King of Dwarves, hadn't he? Or the King of a particular clan of dwarves and whoever else decided to settle in his mountainous halls, but either way, Bilbo was quite used to Middle-Earth's hairiest non-animal inhabitants.

"And I married the King of them at that," sighed the hobbit. "Lobelia was right. I am a _mad_ Baggins."

"What're you moping about over here?"

"Just thinking about the insanity that I have lived through over the past two decades," said Bilbo. "How my head hasn't gone completely grey is a genuine mystery, too."

"Awww, we're not that terrible."

"Considering the amount of food and knives and tankards that have been flying around here? Yes, I do think my poor hair should be grey and falling out. Have you seen the kinda stunts my nephews get up to?"

Bofur hiccupped. "I'll admit, they do tend to be rather..."

"Suicidal."

"I was gonna say rambunctious, but there may be that tendency there, too." Bofur released another hiccup and then took a swig of his very much illegal ale. "I mean, they _are_ related to our charge-loving King."

The miner imitated Thorin's trademark charge, arm waving in the air with his tankard serving as a makeshift sword. Bofur's croaky roar was actually quite good, and Bilbo would have pointed this out if his friend hadn't twirled around in a loopy circle. Despite nearly toppling over, Bofur still continued to strike at an invisible enemy, cursing all elves in the name of their stony-headed Maker. Only Bilbo's quick reflexes kept the miner from landing on his thick dwarven head, several other dwarves and three skin-changers swerving around their table to avoid Bofur's pin-wheeling arms.

"You see, this is why I'm known as Mad Baggins in the—"

WHACK!

"Okay, who threw that?! Well?!"

Bilbo picked up the cabbage that had walloped him in the head, arm raised to chuck it right back at the culprit. Honestly, the throwing of food was just childish and awful and a complete waste of a perfectly good meal. His relatives would be scandalized. This cabbage would have made an excellent stew, especially with some of Lady Margrethe's carrots, bean sprouts, and potatoes. And then a blur of gold went rushing past...

"Oh, that—Fíli! You get back here right now!"

"I don't think so!"

"Huh, maybe he _is_ suicidal," hiccupped Bofur, draped all across the table. "The chandeliers truly are lovely in this room. Very pretty. Good craftsmanship."

"Where did that boy run off to?!"

Bilbo didn't wait to hear his friend's reply, instead taking off across the hall and towards the blond head that he saw disappear behind Currin's tall, rag-covered frame. How anyone had actually managed to wrangle her into some half-decent clothes—even Tauriel and Legolas had difficulty with that, and they'd known the wolf for at least a century—was beyond him, but Bilbo could ask Kíli or the badgers about it later. For now, he had a little lion to hunt down.

"His braids are mine."

 **Bad Habit 37:** _Believing that anyone without a beard or sideburns is ugly._

"It's too bad, really."

"You'd think with his immediate and extended family's whiskers that he would at least have more than a dusting now."

"Even the skin-changers are hairier than him."

"Wonder if something went wrong when he was a babe or toddler? I mean, he does favor his uncle and mother, after all."

"The Line of Durin has had many misfortunes in recent times. It's a possibility."

"Well, he's not the crown prince or heir, so that's at least some reassurance to the Longbeard throne. I mean, you can't really have a Longbeard King who scarcely has any whisker or beard at all."

"I reckon there will be some—"

"Ahem!"

The table of dwarves froze up like a bunch of children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, all of them very slowly turning to face the deceptively unassuming creature behind them. Foot tapping and arms crossed, Bilbo Baggins stood less than five feet away, usually warm eyes narrowed to cold slits as he observed the eight dwarves with quite the impressive scowl.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"Ugh..."

"Oh, ummm..."

"Ahh...

"Good afternoon, Your Highness."

"Aye, afternoon."

Bilbo stared down at the group of burly dwarves, whiskerless face morphing from a thunderous scowl to a sweet smile in three seconds flat, which didn't escape the attention of his intended targets. Less than two tables away sat the Captain of the Royal Guard, wolfing down a huge bowl of stew while the equally hungry faunt on his lap worked his way through a slab of apple bread and honeyed porridge. All of them were well-aware of how precarious their situation was; even the slightest word or tone of insult towards the Consort would result in a smackdown of epic proportions.

"I hope that your day has been going well. No problems in the guilds or mines?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Everything's well. Nothing urgent to report."

"Lower halls are good."

The hobbit gave them another sickly sweet smile and said, "That's certainly good to hear, especially since I've heard some worrying reports about the structural damage of the armories and sapphire mines. I'm sure you can understand my concern."

"Aye, those particular mines are rather worrying."

"Some of the upper forges as well," said Bilbo. "Relighting them has proven to be a difficult task, what with the damage from Smaug's final rampage. Our healers have had to treat quite a few nasty burns in recent weeks. Some beards have even been lost, I fear."

The wide-eyed stares of Bilbo's audience were all the confirmation he needed. None of them would be speaking ill of Kíli in the near future. Not if they wanted to stay out of the forge reconstruction crews, that is.

"Well, it's about time for Frodo's afternoon nap, so if you'll excuse me, gentlemen?"

"Of course, of course."

"Aye, have a good rest of the day, Your Highness."

With a nod and a smile, Bilbo walked back to the table and sat down beside Dwalin and his youngest nephew. The guard captain side-eyed him, tearing a large bite out of the jerky that he'd somehow gotten a hold of. Good meat was a rare commodity this time of year in the far north.

"Quite the unnerving smirk you've got there. Threaten someone today?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

 **Bad Habit 38:** _Holding grudges for centuries._

"Do I even want to know what started all of this?"

"I hate him."

"Well, I've certainly gathered that so far," said Bilbo. "The whole glaring of daggers and attempting to shove him into the mountain's abyss were my first clues. Roping our nephews into beating the snot out of him in the training halls was the second clue. And your behavior at the feast just now was most definitely the third clue. Have I missed anything?"

"I hate him almost as much as the slug."

Bilbo blinked. "What on Arda did he do to welcome _that_ level of hatred?"

"You don't want to know."

"No, actually, I really want to know," said Bilbo, reaching out to stop his irate husband. "He's been present in the Royal Halls and at least a half-dozen assemblies, so I want to know what he's done to warrant this type of suspicion and vitriol."

"It's none of your concern."

"Oh, yes, it is," snapped the hobbit. He was beyond tired of Thorin's prideful stubbornness. "That dwarf has been within striking distance of our boys on numerous occasions, and I want to know if he's a potential threat to them. I will _not_ have Fíli, Kíli, or Frodo put in any sort of danger because of your need to show up another dwarf, Thorin. Do I make myself clear?"

His husband looked properly chastised, shoulders drooping as he gazed at an enormous statue of Náin II and the silver mines that stretched below it. Miners could be heard chipping away at the rock, a sound that Bilbo now found to be quite soothing and a constant reminder of home. At some point, flowers and stones and boisterous feasts had morphed into one happy entity for Bilbo, both of them equally important to him and the ragtag family he had pieced together. And if he needed to defend that group of loud and loony hairballs, then the hobbit wanted to know about it.

Strategies were necessary for these kinds of things, after all.

"He gave insult to my family," Thorin finally admitted. "It was a grave insult that still carries weight even today. I could have had his tongue for such an utterance, but times were harsh back then and Durin's Folk had precious few allies."

Bilbo tucked himself into the King's side and asked, "I assume since he's a Firebeard that this involved your state of exile?"

"No."

"Well, then what was it?"

The King mumbled something under his breath and Bilbo fought the urge to sigh. When it came to dramatic brooding, Thorin was the high lord and grand champion of it, as Dís loved to point out whenever given the chance. But they hadn't been married six years for nothing, and Bilbo was going to drag this little issue out of the Dwarf-King one way or another. However, even Bilbo's patience had an upper limit and he had had quite enough after the fourth mumble, flicking Thorin on the beard and snapping, "By the Green Lady, just be out with it! Now!"

"He accused Dís, Frerin, and myself of having small noses."

" _Small_...noses?"

"Aye," said Thorin with a grim scowl. "I should've ripped out his tongue right then and there, but our situation was precarious and we needed the food and shelter, so..."

Bilbo paused for a moment. "But wouldn't that be a compliment?"

"Compliment?!"

"Having a small nose is considered quite an attractive trait in a hobbit," Bilbo stated with a shrug. "Mine's always been a bit on the larger side, and I was rather self-conscious of it as a young lad."

"That is absurd! It's perfect."

Bilbo snickered. "Yours is quite the honker by hobbit standards, I can assure you."

That seemed to make Thorin puff up with pride, his ridiculous ego visibly inflating because of his husband's backhanded compliment. Of course, it wasn't quite so backhanded to a dwarf such as himself, who coveted large noses and thick beards just like the rest of his race. Except when they applied to one particular hobbit and his nephew, that is. Both of them were exempt from all frivolous and shallow beauty standards. No need to fix perfection, after all.

"I knew there was a reason why I love hobbits."

"All this over a simple nose insult," giggled Bilbo, happily leaning up into his husband's kisses. "You dwarves and your silly grudges."

"Oh, no, I still hate him. Like poison."

"Ugh..."

 **Bad Habit 39:** _Cutting off fingers, tongues, and toes as punishment._

"Dori!"

"I've had it up to here with that dwarf's flagrant disregard for our family's honor!"

"No, Dori! Stop!"

"And I swear by the hammer of Mahâl that he'll rue the day he broke the heart of my brother!"

"Dori! I really think you should talk to—"

"How _dare_ he! I'll have what's left of his hair and tie it to the King's throne for all to see! That'll serve him right!"

"I truly think there's been a grave and totally explaina—"

"Not even that silver-tongued devil of a brother of his will be able to drag him out of this! No, no, not this time!"

"Would you just—oh, bebother it!"

Bilbo was practically sprinting by the time they reached the King's Council Room, shouting for Dori to calm down and listen to reason and not pound Dwalin through a wall or table or the nearest glass-like surface. Many threats had been leveled against Dwalin's tongue and fingers as well, including several that involved a degree of violence that he had not thought Dori capable of. Honestly, _what_ did dwarves find so appealing about severed limbs?

"Don't let him through the doors!" Bilbo yelled at the guards. "Lock them if you have—"

BANG!

"I'm surrounded by lunatics!"

And just like that, Dori slammed both guards into the nearest walls and charged straight through the double doors, steam all but pouring out of the dwarf's nose and ears as he looked for his intended target. Thorin, Balin, Bofur, and several foremen looked thoroughly startled, all of them reaching for their weapons until they realized it was just a member of the Company. Unfortunately, this hesitation did not end well for Dwalin, who was promptly pushed into and pinned on a nearby pillar by Dori, dark eyes wide as he attempted to break the Guildmaster's iron-clad hold.

"What's the meaning of this?" Thorin demanded. "I've half a mind to—"

"You," snarled Dori, finger pointed right into Dwalin's nose, "Are going to explain yourself. In front of me. In front of our King and Consort. And if you don't, I will remove the dwarfhood that our Maker gifted you."

As Dwalin started to defend himself and whatever situation he had created, Bilbo grabbed his husband by the arm and explained that Dori had somehow found an upset and unusually somber Nori in Ori's room this morning. It was almost unheard of for the Spymaster to express actual feelings in public, which included Dori and almost everyone else in the world. Ori was a rare exception and if the middle Ri brother was so distressed about his relationship with Dwalin that even fussy Dori had noticed something was very much amiss, then the large dwarf truly did have to fear for tongue and dwarfhood.

"I think I may have an idea of what is wrong," Thorin admitted. "Whether Dori will be pleased or not remains to be seen."

"Ori's coming, so maybe he can calm him down."

"Unlikely."

Tucked beneath his husband's arm, Bilbo watched as the two dwarves snapped at each other in rapid Khuzdul, and it appeared at several points that Dori would punch out the other dwarf's teeth. He was just about to march over and force the pair apart when Dwalin shouted something in Khuzdul, voice rough with frustration and some other emotion that Bilbo couldn't yet identify. But he was familiar with those words...

"Did he just say what I think he said?"

"It would appear so," said Thorin with a nod. "And I owe my sister five gold pieces. Damnit."

"What have I told you about gambling?"

Thorin shrugged. "I was sure that he'd wait at least another week before officially proposing. But I never factored Dori into the equation."

"I don't think he's proposed yet."

"But he will now that Dori's cornered him," despaired the King. "Not that I think his avoidance of Nori was intelligent or anything."

"And this coming from Broody McBrooderton?"

"I hate that name."

"Take it up with your sister." Bilbo fingered his own marriage beads. "And would you look at that! Dwalin only suffered a broken nose."

"Pity."

 **Bad Habit 40:** _Acting absolutely ridiculous whenever a woman's pregnant or giving birth._

"By the Green Lady, you're being absolutely ridiculous!"

"We must be prepared."

The hobbit laughed in astonishment. "Prepared? This is so far beyond being prepared that I don't even know what to call it. Hania's having a baby, not planning a siege of the northern territories."

"You can never be too prepared with dwarf pregnancies," said Thorin. "Do you think they'll need another pile of blankets?"

Dwalin nodded. "Aye, couldn't hurt, I'd say."

"I wonder if Óin would be willing to give us another update? It's been over an hour and I think that's long enough, right?"

"He'll probably punch you."

The entire Company was bustling around the receiving rooms that were right outside Bombur's and Hania's bedchambers, all of them wringing their hands and acting like a bunch of worrywarts. Bilbo had whipped up a slew of refreshments and snacks for the event, mostly the traditional fare that hobbits ate during the hours of a birthing. Two plates of feta cheese fold-overs, bacon and cheddar deviled eggs, sugar-coated pecans, Shire toasted cheese puffs, spiced pumpkin seeds, his Aunt Myrtle's sweet and sour meatballs, and fresh tomato salsa with deep fried chips, although that last one wasn't really a traditional hobbit dish but an exotic recipe that he'd received in recent weeks from a Relmether merchant.

"Why is it taking so long?" said Dori a few minutes later. "Maybe we should have asked Currin to fetch Tauriel and Legolas to assist with the birth. It would have guaranteed a bit more safety, at the very least."

"Don't say a word," hissed Bilbo, pinching his husband's thigh. "I'll not have any ranting today, understood?"

"Our healers are the finest."

"And did Dori or I say that our healers aren't among the very best in the land?" Bilbo intertwined their fingers and then ran a soothing hand over Thorin's tense forearm. "No, we didn't. But I think even you'll agree that a second opinion from outside sources is always a sensible option."

Thorin just grunted in reply. Typical.

"Well, I'm going to check on Frodo and Donel down the hall," said Bilbo after another half-hour passed in silence. "Knowing Billa and Bilba, they've probably run them ragged at this point. Holler for me if anything changes, alright?"

All of the dwarves grunted and went back to their worrying, Bofur quite literally wearing a hole in the warg-fur rug. And he wasn't joking in the slightest, either. There were at least three spots fraying and twisting along the seams now, small poofs of stuffing and fur bursting up into the air on occasion. Bifur was a bit more composed, quietly sitting on a stool beside the closed door while whittling yet another toy for his newest niece or nephew. It appeared to be a little hobbit last time Bilbo had looked. Or maybe a large gnome. Hard to tell sometimes with Bifur.

"So much doom and loom for what should be a happy event," grumbled the hobbit. "Perhaps a bit of optimism would make matters less trying. The Green Lady knows that Hania would appreciate it."

Births should be treated as a celebration, not an illness. Just yet another difference between hobbits and dwarves, thought Bilbo with a sigh. But at least he wasn't alone in his puzzlement this time. Frodo was genuinely confused by the thick tension in the room, head tilting back and forth whenever the dwarves jumped at the slightest sound or fretted over the _lack_ of sound coming from Hania's bedroom. None of it made any sense to a faunt who'd celebrated dozens of births in the time he'd lived in Brandy Hall, one of them even resulting in quadruplets.

Of course, that litter had also contributed to Primula's older sister being unable to adopt Frodo, too. Thankfully, as far as Bilbo could tell, Hania wouldn't be having four babes in one go, so they wouldn't have to stress over such an unpleasant—

"Bilba stuffed a piece of chalk up her nose."

Well, perhaps less stressful wasn't the best choice of words. And when Bilbo returned to the receiving room with four children in tow, he learned that yet another addition had been added to the Company's growing brood. He could also hear Hania scolding everyone for being a bunch of worrywarts—and see, Bilbo wasn't the only one who thought a special breed of insanity had overtaken his dwarves!—proudly recalling her swift and uncomplicated labors with Billa and Bilba. A few comments were made about her maybe having some hobbit in her, causing the whole room to laugh with irony and relief.

Dwarves out-birthing hobbits? Impossible.

"So, who's our newest addition to this crazy lot of hairy marauders?" asked Bilbo when he was finally allowed to see the squalling babe. "And goodness, that is quite the head of hair! Taking after Papa already, I see."

"We've decided to continue the tradition," said Hania with a tired smile. "Say hello to little Bella."

Bilbo wept with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I very slowly got there with this assemblage of stories. It took me way longer than usual, but I did finish it. And with all the tears and snot left over from _BOFA_ , hopefully this will help some folks' hearts a little bit. And yes, Bombur's daughters are named Billa, Bilba, and Bella. They're very fond of Uncle Bilbo. Thanks for reading!


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